


Blackout City

by DreadWolfMoon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: 1920s AU, 1930s AU, Crime, Detective Noir, F/M, Noir AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 114,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadWolfMoon/pseuds/DreadWolfMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- Denerim. The city of tears, the city of thieves, of death, of love, of despair. The city of magic. The city where there were more sirens than birdcalls, more TEMPLAR officers than civilians, more apostates than registered mages. Where dreams of success came to die, and realities of dark fantasies and desires came alive. -</p><p>Cullen Rutherford is a disgraced ex-TEMPLAR, now a Private Detective in one of the most notorious cities in all of Thedas. Ready to give up his ties to his former life and forget all the atrocities he once performed in the name of justice, all his plans are shattered by the arrival of an old friend with a new mission for him. But can he solve this mystery before someone else uses it to tear down the TEMPLAR order, and throw Denerim into chaos?</p><p>Reviews include:<br/>"OH MY GOD SERIOUSLY.....SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?!!?!??!?!?!?" and "OMG I HATE YOU"- Dichotomous_Dragon<br/>"This is such a creative and compelling AU" and "The smut was excellent and I want more!" - HeadLadyInquisitor<br/>"It's one of my favorite fics ^^" - DragonairQueen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cutting to the Quick

Denerim. The city of tears, the city of thieves, of sex, of death, of love, of despair. Lot of names for just a single place, big as it was. But anyone who had lived there for more than a week would know that every one of them were accurate, but those who did speak of it (and most tried not to) called it by the most common name. Blackout City. The city of magic. The city where there were more sirens than birdcalls, more TEMPLAR officers than civilians, more apostates than registered mages. Where dreams of success came to die, and realities of dark fantasies and desires came alive. Where the skyscrapers disappeared into the constant low-hanging smog that drifted between the buildings like a dead man’s shroud, obscuring sunlight to the point that the city existed in a constant state of washed-out grey in the daytime and near pitch black at night, broken only by neon lights. Where you could be anything, and nothing, somebody at the same time as nobody.

***

Cullen never thought he’d end up in the ass-end of Hell when he’d left the TEMPLAR Academy, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed and ready to rein in some rebels in the name of justice. How quickly that dream had faded, right? Discredited from the Academy, kicked out of the force, banished to some godforsaken city that was rank from the inside out with magic, crime and death. He could just feel it crawling over his skin, the spine-twisting feeling that _magic_ was close… He could barely stomach it, even after all these years, but he guessed it was getting easier. A bit. The night’s cold didn’t help, the wind cutting through his trench coat as if it were paper, blowing foul, grey snow into his face and mouth every time he tried to take a sip of his coffee, gathering on the brim of his hat in tiny drifts. It wasn’t really worth the effort of trying to avoid a mouthful of snow to take a drink, if he was honest. But he supposed that’s what he got for $1 coffee from a street vendor, as nice as the guy was he clearly couldn’t make a decent cup of joe. What he’d do for a good cup of coffee… But all the best coffee places in this city were owned by the mages who infused their brews with Maker knew what.

He didn’t have anything against mages any longer, Cullen thought to himself as he began the walk down the block back to his office, the noise from the cars swishing slushy snow down the road mingling with the shouts of the vendors and the dull rush of steam from the vents that littered the ground. The harmony of Denerim, he called it. But the mages were fine, as long as they kept to their business and let him keep to his. He still wouldn’t trust a mage without knowing them though, he was all too aware of what they could do after seeing the horrors committed by the mages at the Circle after a few dumbasses tried to play fast and loose with blood magic. Gruesome stuff, but at least it hardened his mind against seeing such grisly spectacles afterwards. He was just glad it was all over now.

Reaching his building, a tatty old office block that sat on one of the less-busy streets, Cullen shouldered the door open and dusted the snow off his coat, shook off his hat and pulled off his gloves before trudging up the stairs, his heavy boots leaving a trail of grey, quickly melting snow behind him. He’d probably care more about leaving a mess if his neighbours weren’t total asses. He fumbled in his pocket for the key to his office, hand bumping against the sidearm concealed under his coat. You wouldn’t think a Private Detective who barely got more than two paying jobs a year would need a pistol, but old habits die hard, for Cullen most especially. He wasn’t a trusting guy normally, and after… _No, didn’t want to think about that. Focus on what you’re doing, dumbass._

Sliding the key into the lock, Cullen opened the door and dropped the half-empty cup of coffee into the metal trashcan beside him. He froze as instinct prickled up the back of his neck, and in a single, fluid motion the gun was in his hand, safety clicked off and finger wrapped around the trigger.

“Well, well, well, _Knight-Captain_ ,” came a taunting, female voice from his desk chair, concealed in darkness. “Looks like you haven’t lost your touch.”

Cullen frowned, not moving from where he stood at the threshold, eyes narrowed and looking into his pokey office, just able to make out the the desk and floor around littered with old case files and empty bottles. “That’s not my title anymore,” he growled, lip curled up in disgust at the mention of the name, the scar that curved down one side of his mouth making the expression lopsided. “Who are you?”

A faint, musical laugh came from the intruder, as if he was a child demanding another cookie. “Detective then. All in good time.” There was a squeak as the woman shifted in his chair, and the sound of boots knocking against the bottles as feet were placed on the desk.

“You’re Orlesian, I can tell that much. You come from Val Royeaux? Antiva?” Cullen kept his voice even as he edged towards the light switch that lay a few feet away on the wall next to the door. “You’re a long way from home if so, Ma’am.” Almost there… He reached out carefully, muscles straining at the slowness of the motion, fingers brushing the switch, almost-

The room flooded with light as the desk lamp was switched on. Cullen jumped back, aiming at the intruder again. A woman sat in his chair, clad in a tightly cinched black coat, smiling at him and not in the least concerned about having a gun pointed at her by an agitated ex-TEMPLAR.

“Don’t trouble yourself, detective,” she teased.

Cullen narrowed his eyes, taking in all the details of her appearance meticulously, laying them out in his mind and searching his memory. Short red hair, ice blue eyes, a pouting mouth and a sweet face, but there was steel behind her gaze as she stared at him. No, he didn’t know her.

“You gonna tell me who you are now? Since you seem to be makin’ yourself at home you could at least give me a name,” Cullen grumbled, the gun not dropping a millimetre as he talked.

“I am Leliana,” she replied. “Not that it matters, you wouldn’t know me anyway. I tend to keep myself hidden from TEMPLAR intelligence.” She swung her feet off the desk and gave a small laugh as Cullen flinched, his grip tightening on the gun. “You don’t need to be so scared, detective. If I was here to kill you I would have done it already.”

“Somehow that doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Cullen retorted sharply. “How did you even get in here?”

Leliana shrugged. “A magician never reveals her secrets. Relax,” she hastened to add as she saw his jaw tightening. “I am not a mage.”

“An assassin then?”

“Perhaps. But not for you, not now at least. I was sent by a mutual friend.”

“I don’t make a point to share friends with assassins,” Cullen told her firmly, tone unrelentingly harsh.

“Alistair Theirin,” Leliana said simply, cutting him off.

Silence fell over the room, suffocating and heavy. Cullen lowered his weapon as the name sunk in, unable to process what she had said. It had been years… He knew quite well what Alistair had become, the leader of one of the shadiest armed forces in the city, controlling massive amounts of cold, hard cash and colder, harder people. Strictly anti-TEMPLAR, anti-law, anti pretty much everything apart from rebellious, selfish gain. At least that’s what the TEMPLARs said, there was a lot of bitterness towards Alistair and everyone associated with him and his… What did they call themselves…

Grey Wardens.

The self-proclaimed “true” protectors of the city, fighting against the established TEMPLAR order at every turn. Cullen would admire the man’s tenacity if he didn’t think he was being a stuck-up little ass about it.

“Detective? You know him, don’t you?”

He realised he hadn’t said anything for a good few minutes. Leliana was staring at him in detached confusion, waiting for a reply or indication that he’d heard her.

“Yeah, I know him. Been a few years. What does he want?” Cullen kept his tone gruff, apathetic, not wanting this woman to know about what he thought of Alistair Theirin.

Leliana’s smile grew but never reached her eyes, like a cat watching its prey. No, not a cat. Cullen could tell she wasn’t some tame, domesticated, purring kitty. She was a lioness, ready to strike you as quickly as ignoring you completely.

“He needs your help,” she replied simply.

Cullen snorted. “Why would the Grey Wardens need a washed-up, disgraced TEMPLAR? Last I heard, they hated everything to do with the force, why’d they suddenly change their minds now?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “The Grey Wardens don’t need you, Alistair does. This is nothing to do with the Wardens or the TEMPLARs. He needs help finding someone and you’re the only one he feels he can trust to do it.”

“Why me?” Cullen glared at her. This was all getting too weird. First his office gets broken into by an assassin who apparently has no interest in killing him _yet_ , and now the leader of the biggest rebel group in the city needed his help finding someone? What the hell had that guy put in his coffee? “You gotta understand, lady, this isn’t exactly a common occurrence for me. You’re gonna have to spell it out.”

“Alistair needs to find someone, and there are many people who would see this as a chance to strike at him and tear down the Wardens and the TEMPLAR order in one go. He needs someone he can trust, someone without ties to any organisation in Denerim, and that’s you. You get it now?” Leliana glared at him, placing her hands on her hips and tapping her fingers impatiently. “It’s a simple job, and we’ll pay very, _very_ well for it. And honestly…” She broke off and looked around his office with a raised eyebrow. “It looks like you need it. If you’re interested, you come with me to see Alistair, and he’ll tell you more.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then that’s where I come in,” she replied with a deadly smile.

“That’s where you come in…” Cullen echoed quietly, glancing down and shaking his head. Alistair sure had learned a few things in the years they’d been apart. Covering all the bases, he was impressed. “Ok. I’ll go and see Alistair,” he said after a short pause. It wasn’t like he had a choice. 

“But first,” he held up a hand as Leliana moved towards the door, stopping her in her tracks. “You gotta tell me who I’m looking for.”

Leliana pressed her lips together, brow knitted together in a moment of a deliberation. Finally she looked him in the eye again, lifting her chin as she spoke.

“His wife.”


	2. Hittin' All The Sixes

The heavy snow had ebbed slightly when Cullen stepped out of his office with Leliana following close behind. He tugged his leather gloves on, the last remnants of his cultured TEMPLAR status, and flipped up the collar on his coat in an attempt to keep out the relentless cold. Even though he was from Ferelden, he still hadn’t got used to the colder Northern air. Leliana seemed to be faring even worse than him as she stepped, shivering, out onto the curb, her eyes searching for something on the road in front of them.

“Shall I hail us a cab?” Cullen asked, folding his arms over his chest and watching how his breath floated in the air in front of him.

Leliana shook her head. “No, it is alright. Our ride is not far, we just have to wait for-Ah!” Her words cut off as she noticed a familiar car rolling around the corner, pulling up smoothly in front of them. “Here we go, after you, detective,” she encouraged, holding the door open for him.

Cullen hesitated for a moment before climbing cautiously into the black car, its windows tinted so he couldn’t see who was waiting for him inside. The car was big enough to accommodate two sets of seats in the back, 2 facing forwards and one facing the rear set up against the partition between the driver and the passengers. And from what he could tell on sliding inside the vehicle, the partition was bullet-proof and TEMPLAR grade to boot. _Alistair Theirin, what kind of operation are you running?_

“Ah, you must be Knight-Commander Rutherford,” a smooth male voice said as way of greeting as Cullen settled into the seat.

He started and looked over to see a dusty-blond haired man sitting on the rear facing seat beside him. Two delicately tattooed lines framed his cheekbone, shifting slightly as he grinned at Cullen, eyes sparkling.

“Uh, yeah. Who are you?”

“My name is Zevran Arainai,” was the reply.

Cullen’s eyes flickered up his form, taking in the meticulous black suit and fine leather gloves, like his. But this man was no TEMPLAR, that much was certain. He had an ease of being, a casual readiness like a sword half out of a scabbard, ready to strike at any time but for the moment just resting in wait.

“Antivan?” Cullen asked curtly, out of interest more than anything else.

“You have a good ear my friend, among other things,” Zevran said, winking at the man. “Yes, I am from Antiva.”

“And are you still a Crow or have you retired?”

A tense silence fell over the two men as Zevran’s eyes hardened and grin became more strained, broken only by Leliana opening the door and climbing in to sit opposite Zevran. Her eyes darted between the two of them, not saying a word as she sat back and smoothed her clothes.

“How did you-“

“I’m a detective, it’s what I do,” Cullen told him tiredly, cutting him off. “I apologise if I wasn’t supposed to ask.”

And with that simple statement, the tension dropped and Zevran sighed, smile becoming more genuine as he looked down and rubbed his forehead. “It is no matter, my friend. I was merely surprised. I am still a Crow, but now I am in the employment of Warden Theirin.”

“He can afford to keep a Crow in permanent employment?” Cullen asked, shock lacing his tone. He looked to Leliana for confirmation and she shrugged.

“Alistair is scrupulous with the Warden’s spending, in case we need to make any large expenditures there is reserve enough,” she replied nonchalantly, turning to look out of the window as the car pulled out into the steady stream of traffic.

“My beautiful Leliana, you’re just sour because you didn’t think to charge for your delightful company when you first offered your services to the Wardens,” Zevran teased, nudging her leg with the toe of one elegant wing-tipped shoe. The way Leliana huffed and swept a hand through her hair made Cullen suspect this was an old joke between the two.

“Wait, you asked to join the Wardens?” Cullen asked her, making her turn back to him. “How the hell did you find one to ask? Nobody knows who’s a member, even the TEMPLARs, right?” He gave a short laugh as he spoke. He still couldn’t quite believe this was all happening, it had started out as such a normal morning.

Leliana pressed her lips together before replying. “I tracked down one of the Wardens, helped her push out a few ruffians in a bar and asked her outright if I could join,” she eventually told him.

“She is being modest,” Zevran interjected, earning him a quick side-glare from Leliana herself. “She did not only track down a simple footsoldier Warden, she tracked down _the_ Warden!”

“Alistair?” Cullen asked, looking between her and Zevran.

Zevran laughed. “No, no, my friend. Alistair is an important Warden, yes, but even he would be quick to correct you. She tracked down the most fearsome, the one who shut down that Tevinter militia a few years ago, you remember them?”

Cullen nodded silently. Everyone remembered them, it was hard not to. The Tevinter group, calling themselves the Magisters, had raised hell, practically destroying the city in their riots and attacks on civilians. It had taken the TEMPLARs years to push them back but even they were struggling, when suddenly the group had vanished overnight. It was rumoured that someone from another underground had assassinated their leader and the Magisters had retreated to lick their wounds and regroup, but none of them were ever seen again. Even Cullen, a TEMPLAR at the time, had no idea what had happened.

“Are you telling me a Warden killed the militia’s leader?” Cullen frowned, unable to believe one person could have taken down the most heavily guarded gangleader Denerim had ever seen.

“ _The_ Warden-“

“Yeah yeah, whatever, still… Just one person? I find that hard to believe.”

Zevran laughed at his grumbled mumbles. “Yes, well, you’d believe it if you ever met her, trust me.” He twisted his hands together and put them behind his head, leaning back and looking at the roof of the car, sighing in contentment. “She is quite something… Fearsome, beautiful, sharp wit and even sharper mind… The whole shabang. What a lady.” His words drifted off and silence fell over the car once again.

“Hold on a second,” Cullen spoke up after a few minutes. “Is she the one I’m supposed to be looking for?”

Zevran snapped back up to attention, clicking his fingers and giving the other man a thumbs up. “Very good, my friend! I was wondering when you would work that one out.”

“Zevran, stop antagonising the man,” Leliana scolded, a slight frown marring her pretty features.

He shrugged, holding his hands up in defence. “I am not antagonising, I am encouraging. It is very different, at least in Antiva. Maybe here in Ferelden your minds are not as attuned to seeing the difference as ours are.”

Leliana scoffed at him. “Oh please, I am as much completely Ferelden as Celene is Empress of the Orlesian Quarter.”

“Well she certainly likes to act as if she is…”

Cullen tuned out the two assassins as he watched the city streets go by, the people trudging home clad in thick coats and heads downturned away from the cold chill settling in for the evening over the city. He had a nasty feeling he had jumped in the deep end, thinking it was the shallow, and was now up over his head in water. Finding an old friend’s wife was one thing, tracking down a gang leader who had single-handedly assassinated the leader of one of the most dangerous and feared gangs Denerim had ever seen was another. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes, placing his elbow on the rim of the window and leaning his chin into his palm. This was all going too damn quick, he needed some time to mull this over before he could start to process it.

But it turned out he didn’t get as much time as he would have liked. Leliana laid a hand on his arm as the car slowed, pulling into the dark interior of an old warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of Denerim’s docklands. Cullen wouldn’t have known how to find it again even if he tried, he’d spent the entire ride wrapped up in his own thoughts. Stupid, really.

“We have arrived, detective,” she told him, Zevran opening the door beside her and clambering out.

“You know you don’t have to keep calling me that,” he replied as they got out of the car and stood in the empty, darkened warehouse, the only light coming from the headlights of the car.

“What would you prefer I called you?” she asked, ignoring the stifled snort from Zevran as he tugged a smart trilby on over his hair.

Cullen shrugged. “Cullen, I suppose. You already know that’s my name, right, so why not use it?”

Leliana paused before nodding, flashing him a genuine smile. “Thank you, Cullen. Come on then, let’s get going. Alistair will be anxious to see you, I’m sure.”

“Yes… I’m sure,” Cullen muttered, pulling his coat tightly around himself as they moved towards a door set into the far wall of the warehouse, dim green lights illuminating its presence. The air was even colder inside, with a metallic sharpness that came from the rusting metal all around them. Why in the world would Alistair set up in such a deprived place? If the Wardens were actually as powerful as they claimed to be, Cullen had expected something far… grander. A fortress worthy of the occupants, although in this crumbling city that was hard to come by.

“Detective, are you joining us?” Zevran called to him, and Cullen jumped back to his senses, seeing the two assassins standing inside the elevator that lay behind the mysterious green door.

“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Cullen hastened to join them, standing awkwardly between them as the doors slid shut and Leliana reached over to enter a code on the keypad next to her. With a metallic clunk, the elevator began moving down, neon lights flickering to life as they descended.

“An underground bunker, very impressive. I’m guessing its from the civil war?” Cullen asked no one in particular as a way of breaking the silence.

“Yes, Lady Elissa’s family used to own these docks,” Leliana answered shortly.

 _She calls her Lady Elissa, but not Lord Alistair or Mr Theirin. Good to know the power dynamic here before I get started,_ Cullen noted. It was just like Alistair to become one of the most powerful men in Denerim, but still defer to his wife. Cullen just hoped he’d get a chance to meet the woman, she sounded like an ace lady.

Finally the elevator came to a standstill, doors sliding open with a slight screech. Before them lay a slightly damp red-brick cavern of a room, pillars arching up to the high ceiling and vanishing into shadows. Despite the size and the depth they must be at, the room wasn’t cold and Cullen quickly noticed why as they stepped out. Slightly raised daises lined the hall, forges set into the walls closest to the elevator’s doors, heat pouring out of them as the smiths worked unaware of the arriving group. Sparks flew up from their benches, and narrowing his eyes Cullen could see they were making swords, tips for mage staffs, deadly knives, arrows, anything, you name it. What use were weapons like these when guns could do the job just as quickly? Curiousity piqued, he turned to Leliana to ask, but she was already moving down the hall to the raised platform at the end. Following a sweeping gesture from Zevran, Cullen bit his questions back and followed her.

Not only were there forges, but a whole armoury down here as far as Cullen could tell, with even more rooms leading off from the main hall. This place seemed like a maze, and he regretted his earlier assumptions. This was definitely a fortress.

The group finally reached the end of the hall, and looking up Cullen noticed a metal platform set high up on the wall, perfect for a leader to observe the proceedings of their kingdom. Spiralling, black metal staircases snaked down from either side of it and Zevran swiftly climbed up as Leliana and Cullen stood far enough back to see him disappearing through a heavy metal door above them. A tense silence fell over them as they waited, one which Cullen didn’t want to break, not this time. He needed to keep his wits about him now, not distract himself with idle chatter.

Footsteps could be heard clanking on the platform, and Cullen raised his eyes again, waiting anxiously. He trained with the man, for the Maker’s sake. He really shouldn’t be so intimidated just because Alistair had found a decent place to work. Oh, wait, Alistair’s _wife_.

“Cullen Rutherford, glad you could join us!” A jovial voice called from above him, and Cullen finally laid eyes on Alistair Theirin after almost 10 years.

Clad in a simple but smart white shirt and dark blue trousers, Alistair raised his arms in greeting to his old friend, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing sinewed, muscular forearms cut across with numerous corded scars. Cullen’s eyes narrowed. _Still picking up brawls when you shouldn’t, huh kid._

“Yeah well, I couldn’t refuse your invitation,” Cullen replied, his voice raised over the distant din of the forges. “Especially when you asked so nicely.”

Alistair grinned at that, an expression that didn’t quite break through the cold sadness in his eyes. He turned and made his way down the stairs, Zevran and a grey-haired woman Cullen didn’t recognise, dressed in the long, modest black dress of the Magi, following behind him closely.

“Yeah, well, you call for a warm welcome. Welcome to Weisshaupt!” Alistair gestured grandly around himself as he spoke, before holding out a hand and clapping Cullen’s gloved one between two of his own. “It’s good that you came, bud. Really, thank you. I could use your help, preeeetty damn desperately as you’ve probably been told,” he continued, leaning in and speaking in a lower tone as he placed an arm around Cullen’s shoulders, leading him away towards the stairs.

“Yeah, Leliana mentioned your wife had gone missing. Old ball and chain finally got sick of seeing that ugly mug of yours every day? Smart girl,” Cullen joked easily, a smile lifting his mouth slightly at seeing his old friend. Despite the circumstances, Cullen was glad to joke again, and he realised how much he’d missed the easy dynamic in his isolation.

Alistair laughed. “Smart she is, but don’t tell her I said that because she already knows I think it. Come on, we’ll talk more in my office. Zevran,” Alistair looked over his shoulder as Cullen began climbing the stairs in front of him, “Make sure the entrance is secure. Remember we’re on full lockdown, nobody gets in or out without my say-so, got it?”

Zevran tipped his hat. “Got it the first time, boss,” he replied but quickly obliged.

“Thanks. Wynn, Leliana, if you would join us please,” Alistair continued, speaking to the two women who nodded and followed his ascent up the stairs.

***

 

“Alright, Alistair, what’s this about?” Cullen asked, leaning back into the red leather chair opposite the Warden’s and surveying the man with shrewd, narrowed eyes. “I know you want to find your wife, but I want the truth of how she disappeared.”

Alistair didn’t reply and remained standing. The four of them were in his office, a round, cozy room with an open fireplace that cast flickering gold and amber hues against the walls. Everything was warm, everything was comfortable. The red leather armchairs were delightfully soft but not enough that you felt too relaxed, cheerful mess cluttering the dark wooden desk on one side of the room and a mahogany booze cabinet dominated the other. The seats were set in front of the fire, with a little table in between them. Perfect for socialising, and discussing plans with an ally.

“If I’m honest, Cullen, I wouldn’t mind knowing that either,” Alistair eventually said, walking to the cabinet and pouring out a measure of bronze coloured liquid into an expensive looking glass.

Cullen shook his head as the man held out the decanter to him. “No, thank you. What do you mean?”

Alistair cast a look at Leliana, who nodded and went to stand outside, followed quickly by Wynn. After the door clicked shut, Alistair set the bottle down heavily, sighing loudly and rubbing a hand over his face. He seemed to age 10 years in those few seconds, Cullen noted.

“There was a fight,” Alistair began, coming over to sit opposite Cullen with his drink held closely in his hand.

Cullen leaned forwards, listening intently and determined to not interrupt.

“None of us were expecting it, otherwise it might have gone differently,” Alistair continued. “This isn’t our only base, we have a supply cache just outside the main city limits, in the old industrial area. We call it Adamant, and nobody but us knows about it. Elissa… She’d taken a few of our people down there to restock on a few things. Ammo, a few bits of equipment for the smiths, low level stuff.” Alistair stopped to bark a short, harsh laugh. “I think I asked her to bring back some booze, the good stuff, and she said “you drank it all already?” No, I replied, that was you.” His fingers clenched tight around the glass, his eyes growing distant in the warm light of the fire. “She always drank too much…

“Anyway, back to what I was saying. She was supposed to be back in a few hours, no more than two, but after four had gone by… We started to get a bit twitchy, right? So I take some guys and I go down there, and what do we find?”

There was a long pause where Alistair took a long, shaking drink from his glass. Cullen knew better than to reply.

“Bodies. Burning, slashed open, guts spilled all over the place, that’s what we found down there. The entire place destroyed and falling apart, and Elissa nowhere to be fucking found.” Alistair closed his eyes, squeezing the glass so tight Cullen was worried it might shatter. “That’s what we goddamn found.”

Another silence fell as Cullen tried to process everything he’d been told. “Where there any clues? Anything you found that wasn’t yours?” he asked eventually, hating himself for questioning his friend about such a horrific event.

Alistair nodded, pressing his lips together, gathering himself. Becoming the Warden not the broken shell of a man who’d just lost his wife. “Yeah, we found something. Wynn!” he called, standing and setting his glass down on the table as the door opened immediately and the grey-haired woman entered, holding a shoebox in her hands.

“Wynn is my senior advisor, keeper of the Books,” Alistair explained, taking the box from her as he spoke.

“Careful where you throw around that word, young man,” Wynn scolded him in a gentle voice, her eyes sparkling.

“What, senior? You know you don’t look a day over 45 in my eyes, Wynn,” Alistair teased.

Wynn shot him a shrewd glance. “No, advisor. Recently my job has been more… studious than simply telling you what to do,” she replied.

Alistair smiled at her. “Yeah, but I can always count on your job as Warden Scolder.”

Wynn returned the smile wryly, before nodding to Cullen and leaving the room again.

“When Leliana did another sweep of the area, some of her agents picked up this,” Alistair explained, setting the shoebox down on the table and lifting the lid. “You probably know it better than I do.”

Cullen leaned over, peering into the dark depths of the box. Inside it lay the broken shell of a smooth, small bottle, traces of liquid still shining inside the pieces. Yeah, he knew it. He knew it real well.

“Lyrium,” he growled, fists clenching unconsciously at his sides. “You found this at Adamant?” His eyes darted back up to Alistair’s, the fire throwing dancing shadows across the man’s tense and stress-lined face.

“Yeah. Which means only one thing.” Alistair placed the lid back on the box and stood up straight, his hands now behind his back.

“The TEMPLARs were there.”

“And if they were, they know where my wife is,” Alistair added, a hard, cold edge to his voice.

“Even so… I doubt the TEMPLARs would attack unprovoked. That’s not their style, they would have been rogue or doing it off the books…Are you sure they’re not working with another group? Who would benefit most from the TEMPLARs going head to head with the Wardens?” Cullen asked, running a hand through his hair. If there was anything he’d learned from his TEMPLAR time, it’s that there was always more to the story than there appeared.

Alistair frowned, thinking hard. “I guess… the Apostates probably would. They’re a rebel mage gang trying to break TEMPLAR restrictions on magic. If anyone stood to gain from the force being weakened from a gang war with us, it’s them, but I’d say you’d wanna talk to someone who knows them a bit better than I do before we say they’re involved.”

“Do you know someone?”

“No, but Wynn might. She’s a mage after all. WY-“ Alistair opened his mouth to yell again, but the sound cut off as the woman entered with a sour look on her face.

“I’m not your mother, Alistair, you can’t yell my name and expect me to appear,” she said coldly.

“You say that, but I yelled your name, and here you are. Look, we need a contact,” he said quickly before she could retort. “A mage who isn’t allied with the Apostates, or the circle. Do you know anyone?”

Wynn thought for a moment. “I might know one… And as far as I recall, she and Elissa were close until she dropped off the radar a few years ago. But I might know where to find her now, if I look in the proper places,” she mused, tapping a finger against her chin thoughtfully.

“She and Elissa were close? Why have I not heard of her then?” Alistair demanded.

“As I remember, Elissa thought you might have some… issues with the idea of your fiancée being friends with an unregistered mage, especially one who used to be called a Witch of the Wilds.”

 _A Witch of the Wilds??_ Cullen’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. Now there was a title that wasn’t thrown around lightly, you’d have to be incredibly powerful and/ or incredibly bad to be called that. He wondered which type Alistair’s wife used to run around with...

“I don’t care, find her,” Alistair said, surprising both Wynn and Cullen with his quick dismissal. “What’s her name?”

“Morrigan.”

“Alright, Wynn, you go track down this Morrigan in the Books, see what you can dig up. Cullen, go with her. When you find her, take Leliana and Zevran and go track her down, and bring her back here. We need to know everything she knows,” Alistair ordered.

Cullen nodded and began to follow Wynn out of the room, turning at the threshold and looking back at Alistair. “We’ll find her, Al, we will,” he said gruffly but truly.

Alistair nodded in thanks. “From the looks of it, we’ll be finding a lot more than my wife now. I just hope we’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long! Lot of talk in this one... I promise the next one will be more actiony. And Morrigan will be in it, so that's always a plus.


	3. Two's Company, Three's Exciting

“Call me old fashioned, but I really prefer to get to know a girl better before she takes me to a seedy bar,” Cullen said as the driver pulled over to park at the side of one of Denerim’s more run-down back streets. The red, pulsing lanterns hung outside almost every building told him immediately that this wasn’t the sort of place he wanted to hang around in.

“Oh, please,” Wynn scoffed, her gloved hands clasped in her lap as she sat demurely beside him. “I think I’m a little too old for you, young man.” She nodded towards the bar’s entrance. “Morrigan should be in there, as far as I can tell she frequents this… establishment regularly. I called ahead, the barman saw her a few days ago so she should be there tonight.”

Cullen frowned, humming in thought. “It’s probably better if I go in alone, you should go back to Weisshaupt.”

Wynn raised her eyebrows. “Where you thinking I was going to hold your hand and walk you in there like your mother? I was planning on going back to Weisshaupt anyway, but I appreciate the thought, thank you, detective.”

Cullen returned the smile she gave him. Wynn seemed genuine, honest, easy to talk to and trust unlike the others. He didn’t think she would have an ulterior motive in helping him, unless she wanted petty revenge as a mage on a former TEMPLAR. It was no secret how badly the mages in the Circle were treated, despite the promises from the TEMPLARs that the tower would be a place of protection and learning. Bullshit, he knew the truth. But he couldn’t dwell on that now, he reminded himself, forcing his mind back to the matter at hand.

“Ok, I guess I’ll see you back there, hopefully with the information we need.” Cullen made to open the door, but Wynn’s hand on his forearm stopped him.

“Detective, be careful.” Wynn’s eyes bored into his own as she spoke, her tone low and insistent. “Morrigan is a Witch of the Wilds, do not forget that. She could kill you before you knew it was happening. Keep your wits about you.”

“I…I will. Thank you, Wynn.” Cullen flashed her a quick half-smile before opening the door. “I haven’t slipped up with a mage yet,” he continued from outside, leaning over to look at her through the door.

“Yet,” Wynn pointed out shortly. “Don’t make today the time you do.”

Cullen paused before nodding and closing the door, slapping a hand on the car’s roof as it pulled away and watching it until it vanished around the corner. Then, turning on his heel he strode quickly into the bar, not wanting to stand on that pavement any longer than he had to.

Inside it was warm, at least. Almost too warm. It was a heavy kind of heat, the kind that weighed on your mind and made you drowsy even if you were fully rested. It was low lit by dull, bronze lamps on the dark wood-panelled walls as well, which didn’t help. Taking off his hat but leaving his coat to hide his sidearm, he hung it on the hat rack by the door and sidled up to the bar, the soft thudding of his footsteps on the worn boards breaking the soft silence that hung over the place. There were only a few people in the bar, an old man slumped over his drink at the far end of the long bar and a woman sitting at a table in the shadows on his left.

The barkeep strode over to him as Cullen perched on one of the worn red velvet topped stalls and placed the rag he was using to clean glasses over one shoulder. “What can I get you?”

“Jack, on the rocks,” Cullen replied, and the man nodded, quickly bustling around to prepare the drink. Cullen nodded in thanks as the glass was set in front of him. “Tell me, is a woman called Morrigan here tonight?”

The other man froze, eyes widening slightly before darting over to catch the gaze of the old man who had jolted upright at the sound of the name. A second later, the old man scraped back his stool and hurried out of the bar, gathering his coat haphazardly around him in his haste to leave.

The barkeep cleared his throat, turning back to Cullen. “Yeah, she’s here. Over there, on that corner table. Look just,” he leaned in closer, giving Cullen a pleading look. “Don’t mess up the place too much, ok? I barely got it together from last time someone came looking for her. Between her and Isabella, it’s tough to keep everything in order, right?”

“Uh…. I promise. I just wanna talk to her,” Cullen reassured him.

The man snorted, leaning back. “Yeah, that’s what they all say. Next thing I know, I got tables smashed in and bottles stuck in the middle of my walls. I don’t even know how she goddamn did that! I’ll be in the back.” And with that, the man was gone, hastening around the side of the bar and Cullen heard the sound of a door shutting.

He let out a breath. Great, another hellraiser. Did Alistair know anyone even remotely normal? Squaring his shoulders, Cullen walked over to where the woman sat, her long legs clad in high heeled black leather boots that stretched all the way up to her thighs resting on the table in front of her. A red brocade corset covered her upper half, covered in a gauzy black scarf that she wore draped around deathly pale shoulders. If he was to spell out this woman in a single word, it would be trouble. And that wasn’t even to do with how she was dressed, it was the way she lounged back in her chair, eyes covered by a low-brimmed dark red hat, turned down slightly on one side and up on the other. Her entire demeanour screamed secretive, dangerous. It made the hairs lift on the back of his neck just looking at her.

“Morrigan?” he asked, his voice breaking the tense, calculating quiet in the room.

From just below the brim of her hat, a dark-painted mouth lifted in a dangerous smile. “Detective Rutherford, I presume?” came the reply in a smooth, sleek voice.

“How did you…”

“I can do a great many things, detective,” she replied, raising her head to look at him and flashing cold yellow eyes in his direction. “Knowing who is looking for me is just one of them. Please, sit.” Swinging her legs off the table and crossing them, Morrigan watched him closely as he obliged, taking the seat opposite hers tensely. “There’s no need to be so on guard. I won’t attack you.”

“From what I hear, you probably will,” Cullen retorted and then wished he hadn’t as she gave him another predatory smile.

“Even if I were to, you wouldn’t be able to see it coming.” She sighed contentedly and flexed her arms out, revealing black satin gloves that covered most of her arms. “So, I hear you are looking for a friend of mine,” she said idly, picking invisible bits of fluff off her gloves as she spoke.

“How did- Yes. I am,” Cullen said, catching himself before he questioned her again. He didn’t want to seem like he was stupid in front of her.

“Hm. I wonder if you know what you truly seek, or what you have ended up in. You place yourself firmly in the middle of something that goes far beyond your understanding, and refuse to see past the limits of what you’ve been told,” Morrigan informed him smoothly, eyes growing distant, gleaming gold in the dim light. “Why do you think I am better equipped to find the lady than her own husband?” she asked before Cullen could ask her about what she had said.

Cullen swallowed, not sure how much he should tell her. Except, by the sounds of it, she already knew what was going on probably better than he did, not that that was hard. “Alistair suspects foul play, that the Apostates are using the TEMPLARs to strike at the Wardens to benefit from some sort of turf war.”

“And what do you suspect?”

Cullen paused at that. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he searched her face but came up with nothing. No emotion, nothing to give away what she wanted by asking him that. Whoever this woman was, she was a pro at guarding her thoughts.

“I don’t know,” he confessed after a while. “I’d like to suspect the Apostates, that the TEMPLARs are innocent in all this, but…”

“But you know the order far better than that.”

“It’s not Knight-Commander Meredith’s style…” Cullen sighed heavily, hands clenching into fists in his lap and eyes boring into the rough-hewn table in front of him, stained with water and alcohol. “If the TEMPLARs attacked Adamant then someone higher up than Meredith is pulling the strings, maybe even from outside the order. It’s impossible to know what the big picture is without knowing who attacked Adamant, and that’s impossible to find out without knowing the big picture first,” he growled, lips pressed into a hard line and lines furrowing his brow.

“Very impressive, detective.”

Cullen’s eyes darted back up to stare at Morrigan, almost as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. “What do you mean?”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed before she leaned forwards, face suddenly growing severe, honest, dropping all playfully dangerous evasiveness of before. “Elissa came to me before she left for Adamant. We had not spoken in months, but when we saw each other it was like no time had passed. She was… tense. Strained, as if she knew what she was going to be walking into. I believe it was not the TEMPLARs _or_ the Apostates, as you yourself suspect, but the guilty party wanted it to look like it was them to hide their own tracks. Elissa knew who would be attacking, I’m sure of it.”

Morrigan paused, and Cullen remained silent as the woman’s eyes shifted to the window, narrowed slightly as if she saw something, before sliding back to his.

“I wish I could tell you more, detective, but it appears more friends have arrived.” 

Cullen sprang into action, making to jump out of his chair and face whoever could be entering the bar behind him, but something had stuck him to his chair. Pulling and tugging with his torso, straining against whatever vice his lower half was caught in, he tried to get free. Nothing worked, and he could feel the prickle of magic rising up his back as whatever spell it was wound itself tighter and tighter around his body.

“What the hell-“ His eyes darted to Morrigan who was sitting stock still, presumably caught in the same spell as him as she simply shrugged and breathed in a deep sigh. He couldn’t even get to his gun, this was a nightmare. He had no way of defending himself and he could hear the sound of a car’s engine shutting off, heavy footsteps thudding outside towards the bar’s entrance. Squeezing his eyes closed, Cullen tried to grasp the fraying threads of his TEMPLAR training at the back of his mind, but without lyrium they slipped through his fingers like smoke.

 _Ok, focus Cullen. This is no time to panic,_ he ordered himself as he felt his chest growing tighter, fighting the rising chaos in his mind from not being able to control his own body. _Just… take it easy. They might be friendly._ As if anyone in this city was friendly.

He was proved right about that as the bar’s door crashed open, glass shuddering in the frame, someone running up behind him and grabbing his shoulder’s painfully, slamming his head to the table while twisting his arm up behind his back in one move and holding him there in a vice-like grip. A yell of pain escaped his lips, echoed by Morrigan as she received similar treatment. His cheek pressed into the hard grain of the wood, Cullen closed his eyes momentarily before rolling them up to catch a glimpse of the scarred, short-haired woman holding him down. She didn’t look down at him, just tightened her grip around his wrist and making him wince in pain.

“Being a little severe there, aren’t you Cass?” said Morrigan’s assailant, out of Cullen’s view.

“Shut up, Varric.”

“Well well well, what do we have here?” a new female voice said teasingly from behind him, and he heard the creak of leather as a woman walked past him, the sound from her sturdy, heavy boots. Cullen’s eyes narrowed as he saw them move past him. They looked almost TEMPLAR issue… Strange.

Cullen’s eyes flicked up, head and shoulders straining against the person holding him down. He couldn’t see her face, only a red-lipstick smirk from beneath the brim of her black trilby. A black gloved hand stroked lightly over his shoulder as she passed him, long, dark red hair swung round over one of her own shoulders like a thick scarf, her chin nestled in it as she turned slightly to direct that dangerous smile at him before moving away.

“Guys, be darlings and hold them a while longer, yeah?” she called to one of her companions out of sight behind him. “This one might not be a TEMPLAR anymore but he’s probably trying to dispel your magic, Dorian.”

“Well, then I suppose it’s a good thing we brought backup, isn’t it, my dear?” replied a lilting man’s voice from the doorway.

The woman laughed. “And this one… Well we shouldn’t be able to hold you at all, should we?” A short laugh came from under the hat and the woman finally stopped walking to stand directly behind Morrigan, finally allowing Cullen a full view of her.

Dressed in a simple black trench coat pulled in tightly at the waist and buttoned up to her chin, she stared at Cullen with pale green eyes that seemed to almost glow in the dim light. Her smirk was gone, and she looked almost wild without it, her eyes narrowed and mouth slightly open as she lifted her chin to survey him. “What’s a TEMPLAR and a Witch of the Wilds doing in the same place?”

“Probably after the same thing we are,” said the voice from behind Cullen and he did his best to glare at the strange woman.

“Possibly. But this isn’t exactly how I wanted to get our information, so Varric, Dorian, please release the Witch. I’m sorry, what was your name?” In a single moment the woman had become almost pleasant, seemingly uninterested in Cullen now as she moved around to drag a seat from another table to sit next to Morrigan, hands clasped in front of her on the table.

“Morrigan,” the other woman replied, rubbing her neck. “And as far as introductions go, that still wasn’t my worst.”

The woman laughed again. “Sorry about that, just needed to make sure you weren’t going to turn me into a frog before I even set foot in the bar.”

“Still could.”

“Very true, but I’m hoping you’re now too interested in why I’m here to actually do that. I’m Oryn,” she replied. “I’m hoping you could help me with some trouble my group is having.”

“Um, ladies? I hate to interrupt whatever this is, but I’m still fucking down here!” Cullen growled loudly, voice muffled from having his face pressed against the table. Whoever this “Cass” was she really wasn’t pulling any punches…

“Oh! So you are,” Oryn said nonchalantly. “And until I’m sure you won’t try to kill me or my mage friends, I’ll just let you stay down there. As I was saying,” she continued, before Cullen could protest any further. “I’m in need of some help.”

Cullen’s face was growing hotter by the minute. Why did he always find himself mixed up in these messes?

“Many people are these days,” Morrigan replied coolly with a glance at Cullen. “Let me guess, there is someone mysteriously killing your gang?”

“I-Yes.” Oryn shot a look over Cullen’s head at Cassandra, her brow knitted together in confusion. “How did you…”

“I know many things, the fact that you are the leader of a gang called the Righteous and that you rarely show your faces in public or involve yourselves with other gang activity are but a few of them,” came the cryptic reply. “But enough about that. I was correct then?”

Oryn frowned and clasped her hands together on the table. “Yes. We don’t know how, but they’re finding us and we need your help.”

“Who are finding you?” Cullen grunted, receiving a glare from Oryn.

“The TEMPLARs.” Morrigan said, before the other woman could reply.

“What?” Oryn turned to look at her, her frown deepening (if that was possible, Cullen didn’t think it was). “No, it wasn’t. We don’t know who-“

“Herald!” came a shout from the door, another gang member running in. “The TEMPLARs are here, they found us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! It was a beast of a chapter and so will be broken into two parts. So sorry for the lack of action in this one, rest assured there will be plenty of it in the next one. I mean, the TEMPLARs clearly do not mess around.


	4. On the Lam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to quickly say: Thank you to everyone who read and commented so far! Your comments keep me motivated, they really do. You're awesome :D I may be making an 8tracks album for this, so keep an eye on it here http://8tracks.com/dreadwolfmoon for more developments

“Shit!” Oryn jumped up, her cool, blasé attitude shattered as she switched into full Commander mode. “Maker-damned fucking TEMPLARs! I did not need this… Dorian, Cass, let them go. You’re coming with us,” she continued gravely, light green eyes boring into Cullen’s as she grabbed his arm and yanked him up as soon as Cassandra let him go.

“What?” he yelped as he was dragged towards the door, a glance behind him telling him that Morrigan wasn’t being treated nearly as roughly. The witch gave him a smirk in return and he tried to remember why he’d thought he could trust her.

Oryn shoved him out first into the street first, the cold winter air hitting him like a steel wall and making him take a few steps back. “We can’t leave you behind, the TEMPLARs will probably kill you, and if you know something that might help us I’ll never hear the end of it from Josephine,” she said quickly, barely looking at him as she scanned the street before striding towards the large black van in front of the bar, Cullen still firmly in hand.

“Dalish, Stitches, take Morrigan down to the back alleys. Harding will meet you there,” Oryn ordered over her shoulder to the two people jumping out of the van’s open doors. “It’s better than she take the back route, we need her to arrive at Haven in one piece. We’ll draw the TEMPLARs away from you. Go!”

Cullen twisted his arm in her iron grip, still trying to squirm away as her gang followed her orders, running towards the bar where Morrigan still was. “Look, lady-“

“Herald.”

“…Herald. I’m just trying to find someone for the Wardens, I don’t want to get mixed up in whatever gang problems you’re having,” Cullen growled at her, finally managing to wrench his arm free as they reached the van, standing to face Oryn head on with a powerful glare at the ready.

She narrowed her eyes. “You have no idea who we are, do you?” She took a step forwards, getting right up in his face close enough for him to see the small tattoo edging her left eye. “We are not just some gang having a turf scuffle with the TEMPLARs. We’re the Righteous, the last ones to stand against the darkness raging in this city and yes, that might sound a little dramatic but trust me when I say that the shadows here are anything but easy to deal with. You’ve never heard of us because we never _wanted_ you to hear about us. I don’t give a fuck who you’re working for, Alistair is blind to the problems in this city so if you want to help him, then you also have to help us.”

Her eyes were intense, glittering pits of anger as she stared him down, realisation of how dangerous she was hitting him like a freight train. “This has become so much more than just a missing Warden, believe me. You’re going to need all the allies you can get, so get your arse in the fucking van.” She didn’t need to yell at him, her tone low and dangerous, daring him to disobey and feel the brunt of her power.

Cullen did the smart thing and got in the fucking van.

“You’re going to need one of these,” said the man kneeling inside, Dorian he remembered. His moustache curled up at the edges as he grinned slyly at Cullen, who glanced down and noticed the weapon he was holding out.

“A crossbow?” Cullen raised his eyebrows. There were no seats in the back of the van, so he crouched awkwardly beside him. This was getting ridiculous. “Thanks, but I have this.” He got out his gun and flicked open the barrel, checking for bullets before clicking it shut and swivelling it into place again.

Dorian snorted. “And I’m sure it’s very useful in normal circumstances, detective, but…” His grin grew wider and he winked dangerously. “These aren’t exactly normal circumstances, are they?”

Cullen frowned. “What do you-“

“Oh for the Maker’s sake, here take these.” A pack of bullets were shoved into his hand as Cassandra she too got into the van. “Dorian has a spell that means conventional weapons, such as your gun, will not work against us, unless you have particular bullets that were made to withstand the spell.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Cassandra fixed him with a steely glare, making his insides freeze over with a single look. “Do I look like I am joking, Detective?”

Cullen gulped. “No. Thank you.” Flicking open his gun barrel, he tipped out his bullets and replaced them with Cassandra’s, hearing people climbing into the front section of the van as he did so and the engine power up.

“Where’s Lavellan?” Oryn said as she climbed into the back of the van, followed by a shorter man with his unbuttoned shirt showing a lot of chest hair. He carried the biggest crossbow Cullen had ever seen, a wickedly elegant weapon all gears and strong beams.

“She is scouting the road ahead, she said she would join us at the Crossroads when she knew it was clear,” Cassandra said, loading up her own gun as she spoke.

Oryn slammed the van door shut and knocked on the partition between the front and back section. “Ok, let’s go then.” She turned her gaze on Cullen as he heard the van’s engine rev. “You might want to hold onto something.”

“Huh?” Cullen’s eyes darted to the others and saw that they were all grimly wrapping their hands around leather straps hanging down from the ceiling. “Why would I-“ His words were cut off as they lurched forwards, wheels screaming against the pavement and steam rising from the hot rubber against the windows as the van shot down the road like a bullet from a gun.

Multiple swear words spilled from Cullen’s lips as he was thrown against the partition, the short crossbow carrier bracing his fall with an arm against his shoulder.

“We did warn you,” he said, an amused glint in his eye as Cullen quickly struggled backwards and grabbed hold of a strap, winding it around his hand and clinging on for dear life. “Krem isn’t exactly the slowest driver we’ve ever had.”

“Krem?” Cullen said, shouting over the sound of the engine.

The man nodded. “Fast but the best. I’m Varric, by the way,” he continued, tone calm and even despite the van pitching around a corner and throwing Cullen into the window again. “Let me guess, your first time in a chase with the TEMPLARs?”

“Normally I’m on the other team,” Cullen growled, straightening himself and squaring his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Oryn rolling her eyes and Dorian laughing at something, probably him being lurched from side to side as the van careered down the darkened Denerim streets. Lights flashed outside the windows, blurred against the steam and the speed they were going. Cullen shifted to peer out of the back window to see the TEMPLARs supposedly chasing them, but saw nothing. Wait… No, there they were! Two large, black vehicles were rushing down the road behind them, headlights blaring and flashing red in the well-known TEMPLAR warning signal.

“Looks like we’re gonna see more action than we expected,” Oryn said, standing and swinging over to the back window, landing in a crouch next to a pulley beside the doors. Grabbing the end of the thick rope, she tugged it swiftly, the roof above them sliding open and letting the cold air swirl around inside with the force of a small hurricane. “Whoever gets the most TEMPLARs has their drinks on me for the next week!” she yelled, grabbing a crossbow handed to her by Cassandra and standing, leaning over the top of the van and taking aim at the car chasing them.

Varric laughed. “Nice try, boss, but Bianca works best in a competition. My girl hasn’t let me down yet!” he yelled, sliding open the windows and following Oryn’s example.

Cullen watched as the team around him whirred into action, all leaping up and shooting at the vans which swerved, the shrieks of rubber against the road filling Cullen’s ears and making him wince. His head swivelled around, hair flicking his forehead like tiny whips in the wind and eyes wide and staring in open horror at the sight of the gang around him unleashing hell on the TEMPLARs. Whatever he thought he knew about the gangs in Denerim, how ruthless he thought they were, it was nothing compared to the truth. They were efficient, deadly, perfectly synchronised in their attacks.

 _CLICK_. Oryn loaded another bolt into her bow.

 _SNAP._ Cassandra pulled the trigger on hers.

  1. A bolt thudded into the hood of a TEMPLAR van, shot by Varric.



“How long until we get to the crossroads?” Oryn yelled at Cassandra, her hair whipping and swirling around her head like fire as she turned to grab another bolt from her companion.

“We’re getting closer, it should be the next side road!” Cassandra replied, holding her crossbow up and firing three shots in quick succession, hands flying over the weapon as she reloaded it. Before she could fire it, a shard of something red, glittering and extremely sharp thudded into the van beside her arm, making her yell in surprise.

Cullen’s eyes widened and he leaped up to stare out of the window, trying to see where the shard had come from. It felt like his skin and mind was suddenly set ablaze, heightening all his senses and there was only one thing in the world that could make him feel like that. _Lyrium_.

A sharp reflection caught his sight and his arm flew out to grab Varric and tug him away from the window just before another shard tore through the darkness and embedded itself in the metal where Varric’s chest had just been. The man stared at Cullen, disbelief mirrored in both their expressions before Varric jerked out of his shock and leaned over to yell at Oryn.

“Boss! We got a problem!!”

Oryn whipped around to see him and the second shard in the van, shock registering on her face before it hardened into a set jaw and narrowed eyes, her hands already reached for and loading another bolt into her crossbow.

“Dorian!!” she shouted, taking careful aim at the vans behind them.

A prickle ran over Cullen’s skin, distracting him from the leader as he felt magic flowing from the air around him towards Dorian behind him. He whirled around to stare at the man who was sucking power from their surroundings like a whirlpool of magical energy. Arms spread wide, staff held high, head thrown back with closed eyes, bright blue aura billowing around him, Dorian held the world in perfect serenity for a moment.

Everything seemed to slow around Cullen as he stared at the mage, aura glowing brighter and brighter, wind flowing around him in slow motion as his power grew. Seeing the true power of a mage always terrified and electrified Cullen with a heady mixture of fear and awe, and Dorian was clearly holding nothing back.

In the space it took him to form a thought of _oh, shit_ , Dorian’s eyes snapped open, dark and glittering, his arms thrusting forwards and staff spinning in an impossibly intricate arc before slamming on the floor of the van. Brilliant blue shards of lightning tore down from the sky, ripping into the road and vans chasing them in a deadly cage of cracking and pulsing pillars. The vans swerved, one of them turning a full 180 degrees before spinning right into the path of one of the lightning shards and exploding in a flash of blue flame. The other TEMPLAR group slowed slightly and Oryn leaped towards the front of the van.

“KREM, FUCKING FLOOR IT!!” she screamed, and smoke billowed from their wheels as the van peeled down a side road, seeming to spin around forever before finally finding purchase on the tarmac and leaping forwards.

Cullen felt like his head was going to spin right off his shoulders as the van began to slow down, headlights turning off and the brakes slamming on as they reached the intersection between three other side roads. The silence seemed to pour into Cullen’s ears as the engine powered down before the sounds of the city rose again. He could hear the distant hiss of steam escaping a vent and rain starting to patter down around them, surprisingly gentle sounds compared to the shrieks and yells and thudding bolts of earlier. He realised his hand was crushed in the leather strap still and unwound it, wincing as the blood flow returned to his fingers.

“Where are we?” he asked Varric as the man turned away from the window and swung his crossbow over his back again.

“Crossroads,” came the terse reply as the man swung open the door and jumped down from the van, landing heavily in the newly-formed puddles outside.

Cullen sighed. “Right. Very helpful. Can I please go now? I don’t want to fight TEMPLARs.” He stood and swung down from the van as well, directing the question to Oryn who’d climbed out the other side and was now walking around the back of the van towards her team, one of the red shards from before held tightly in her hands.

“No. Not yet,” she replied, looking up at him, her face flushed and eyes bright. “These TEMPLARs, they’re not like the others.” She held up the shard and nodded as Cullen flinched back slightly. “You know what this is?”

“Lyrium.” The word came out in a harsh growl.

“Yep. And I don’t know what TEMPLARs you’re used to, but the ones I know don’t tend to shoot these at us.” Her eyes narrowed as she held the glittering shard of red lyrium up to her face, studying it closely. “I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“We should move on,” Cassandra said from behind Cullen, her tone resolute and as hard as steel. “Ariana should be here soon, but if she’s not then we may have to leave her behind.”

Oryn tore her eyes away from the shard. “She’ll be here, Cass. We just have to give her more time.”

Cullen frowned and looked around at the Crossroads. Abandoned and run-down buildings surrounded him at each corner, the flickering lights of fires barely concealed behind broken  and blacked-out windows. Squatters, he guessed, benefiting from the city’s refusal to knock down and replace old buildings, instead choosing to leave them to slowly decay. There was only a few streetlamps here, throwing the buildings into sharp relief and making the road seem to glitter dull silver and gold against the black pits of the puddles.

“Five minutes. Then we leave,” Cassandra said firmly, breaking through Cullen’s thoughts.

The tall woman stalked off to stand with the others near the front of the van, the driver hoping out and throwing a lazy grin at her as she approached, running a hand over his hair and making it stand on end. His eyes met Cullen’s for a moment and he caught the reflection of suspicion and fear before the man turned away, focussing on Varric and Cassandra again. Cullen sighed. The feeling was mutual. He looked down at his gun, held limply in his hands as he turned it over, fingers tracing the cold metal lines. After what he’d just seen, he understood how useless it was. How useless _he_ was, with all his TEMPLAR training and experience he had no idea what this city’s underbelly contained. The way the Righteous had sprung into action so easily when threatened, the fortress of Weisshaupt, even Morrigan, it was all so organised. These weren’t casual, ruthless but chaotic gangs like he’d been told, these were skilled warriors. An entire army existed underneath his feet and he’d never even known it.

“Time’s up. We have to go,” a gang member Cullen didn’t recognise from earlier said, jogging over to the team.

“Why? What happened?” Oryn demanded, fixing him with a steely eye.

“The other TEMPLAR group, they caught up to us. They’re gonna be here any second, Herald!” panted the man, clutching his side.

“Shit,” Oryn growled. “Go! Everyone in the van, now!!” Her gang poured into the van at the sound of her yelled order, Cullen caught up in the sudden flow and bustled into the vehicle once again.

 This time he wouldn’t be useless, he promised himself. These weren’t TEMPLARs, and he was going to find out what was going on even if it killed him. He cocked his weapon, setting his jaw and grabbing the leather strap on the wall beside him, positioning himself next to Varric by the window, ready to shoot. He could see the distant red flashing lights as the van kicked off once more, peeling down the road even faster than before.

This time wasn’t like the first, this time they knew what they were facing and they knew the odds. Bolts were shot even faster than before, Dorian firing quick successions of lightning, fire, ice, everything in his arsenal but the van kept swerving out of the way as they raced down the empty back streets. Cullen’s heart pounded against his chest and pulse beat painfully in his throat, all he could hear was the sounds of bolts, electricity and engines screaming in protest as they rounded corners, raced over steam vents, skidding across puddles and leaping through the city towards the Righteous’ base.

_SMACK_

A line of fire tore along Cullen’s face as a red lyrium shard sank into the metal above him, ripping the skin on his temple. Blood seeped down his face and into his eyes as he swore, blinking furiously and mind thrown into negative from the pain. By the Maker, the _pain_! Lyrium was in his veins again for the first time in years and even though it was only a miniscule amount, a trace left by the shard, it was enough to make him cry out blindly. And he couldn’t see anything, as he cracked open his eyes, blood making them sticky and obscuring his vision, he was once again completely useless. He could see another shard glinting in the darkness, shot from the TEMPLAR van right at the window in front of him. He was done for. He couldn’t move, the lyrium still agonisingly singing and screaming in his veins, paralysing him. This was it. _Sorry Alistair, guess I won’t be finishing this job after all_.

Cullen closed his eyes again.

_May Andraste guide me._

Something slammed into his shoulders, pinning him to the ground, all the air in his lungs forcing itself out in a harsh, grating gasp. Above him he heard the crash of glass, the shard thudding into the floor inches away from his face. He could feel pressure on his back, almost like someone was leaning on him, holding him down, but as the realisation hit him the pressure lifted and he coughed in lungfuls of air, rolling over and rubbing his hand over his eyes, clearing the blood away so he could see.

Standing over him was an elf, short blonde hair pushed back and gleaming like burnished gold against the red headlights. Her long black coat was thrown open, flapping behind her like wings. In her hand she held a massive longbow, gears and metal rods straining back and clicking into place as she took aim at the van chasing them and fired a glowing blue arrow towards them. As it flew, two ghostly bolts flew after it, ripping through the night air like shooting stars and sending streaks of lights dancing across Cullen’s wide and disbelieving eyes. Was she… was she real?

The wind whipped her hair across her face as the elf turned her head to stare down at him. Silver eyes with the ferocity of a wild animal met his shocked ones, holding his gaze for what seemed like an eternity before she reached down and pulled him to a crouch, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. Cullen barely registered she was saying something until she shook him sharply, bringing his focus back to the present.

“Are you ok?” she was yelling.

“I…” Her face bore the marks of the Dalish, he noticed, light green swirls and lines curving over her cheeks and forehead, a line running down from her lips to the base of her neck. Strange to see an elf with those markings in the city. “Yeah, I’m fine!” he yelled back, realising he’d been staring at her with a slack-jawed expression for a few seconds.

“Stay down here, you might have a concussion!” she shouted over the wind, thrusting a bottle into his hands. “Drink that, we’ll be at Haven soon!”

Cullen nodded and downed the bottle in one gulp as his rescuer stood back up, continuing firing alongside Cassandra, Oryn and Varric, none of whom seemed concerned about the elf who had leaped from the heavens themselves it seemed and landed in their van.

“Nice of you to join us, Rabbit!” Varric yelled up at her, the crossbow in his arms creaking and thudding in agreement.

“Yeah, well, never count me out of a fight against the TEMPLARs!” came the shouted reply, the elf laughing loudly as she sent an arrow flying straight through the windshield of their pursuers’ van and finding a deadly mark, the van spinning out of control and crashing into a shop front. Smoke rose up from the ruined vehicle and the elf shouted in wild victory, thrusting her longbow in the air.

“One shot!” she yelled, slapping Varric on the shoulder. “How did you guys manage without me?”

“Nice work, Ariana,” Oryn called from next to Cassandra. “Dorian, bury the dead!”

“My pleasure, dearest,” the mage said darkly from his position in the centre of the van, gathering fiery energy in his hands before shooting it towards the TEMPLARs, the explosion splitting through the air and sending sparks and flames high into the velvety black sky above them.

Even from his position on the floor with one hand trying to stem the flow of blood still trickling down his face, Cullen could feel the heat from the blast. Sweet Maker… Never mind burying, the dead were fucking _vaporised_ from that.

“Good work, everyone,” Oryn said breathlessly, turning away and tugging the pulley, closing the roof over them. She smiled genuinely at Cullen when she saw him huddled in the corner with his face covered in blood. “Hang on in there, detective, we’re almost home.”

Though what home, Cullen didn’t know, his mind fading to blackness as he passed out, the last thought hanging in his mind one of golden-haired rabbits with green vines across their faces.

***

Quiet footsteps echoed through the empty church, the sound scattering against the old, dusty pews and flicking candles dying slowly beside the altars and underneath the intricate stained glass windows. Shadows danced across the stone walls and pillars as the person moved slowly towards the lone hooded figure kneeling before the massive, elaborate golden main altar. High above them, a statue of a woman with her arms outstretched towards the sky and hands holding a bowl of flame stood in silent witness of the visitor now drawing to a standstill a few metres away from the praying figure.

“You cannot pray.”

Whispers rose tauntingly in the shadowy corners of the church at the words spoken by visitor’s soft voice, the tone seeming to encompass ages of wisdom and suffering despite its gentleness. The praying figure did not look up, simply remained kneeling beneath the arms of the statue.

“Andraste, the prophet. The guide. But she cannot guide you,” the visitor continued, staying in the shadows away from the alter.

“There is no repentance for what I have done,” the praying figure said finally in the cracked, hoarse voice of someone who had been crying, or screaming. It was a woman’s voice, gentle and laughing once, now broken, torn apart and hardened by grief.

“It was born of necessity,” said the visitor, attempting a small comfort which was met with a harsh growl from the woman.

“Leave me. Return to your shadows, your lies,” she hissed, hands clasping in prayer tighter still, the bones gleaming bright white against her already pale skin as the footsteps receded back towards the door, pausing briefly at the threshold as the visitor turned.

“We all live in lies,” came the soft farewell before the heavy oak door of the church creaked shut and left the praying woman alone once again.

Her mouth hardened beneath the line of her hood and she lifted her face to look up at the figure of Andraste high above her. The flames danced across her face, lifting the shadows and gleaming sickeningly against the rivulets and streams of fresh blood that seemed to pour down from her wide, blank and staring eyes. Her chapped and pale lips opened and she whispered the words to the heavens, closing her ruined eyes with their eyelashes matted and darkened with blood.

“Andraste, guide them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *muffled evil laughter* So that was fun! The last section was something I added in last minute because I couldn't wait to introduce this character any longer. Also if anyone is wondering why Morrigan was suddenly shoved to the back alleys right at the start, it's because I wrote the entire chapter and then realised I hadn't included her in anything because I forgot she was there. Whoops!
> 
> Also Ariana is my icon and my second Inquisitor, and my favourite. 
> 
> Anyway, please feel free to comment or kudos or whatever if you liked this!


	5. Behind the Grind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, Haven is like Fort Stevens in Oregon.

“He’s waking up!”

“Gee, thanks Ariana, I never would have been able to work that out based on the fact his eyes are opening.”

“Bite me, Dorian.”

“If only you were my type, my darling.”

Cullen’s eyebrows knitted together in a deep scowl as his brain dragged itself out of the dark recesses of unconsciousness. What in the Maker’s name were they talking about? Where was he? Opening his eyes a crack, pale white light filtered through his eyelashes and into his muggy brain. He could see the foggy silhouettes of two people leaning over him on either side, their heads almost pressed together as they stared down at him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, detective,” the figure on his left said in Dorian’s voice. “Glad to see you were completely destroyed by your little run in with our TEMPLAR friends.”

“Not…. Completely?” he croaked, his chapped lips sticking together.

“Don’t get me wrong, there was a distinct attempt by your brain to not come back all in one piece thanks to your rather nasty concussion. Not that that was your fault, mind, I’m not the type to point fingers. Ariana.”

“It was not!” she replied indignantly, glaring at him.

“My dear you landed on top of him from a 2 storey high jump, it’s a miracle he survived at all.”

Ariana’s silvery eyes narrowed even more as she made a face at Dorian. “It was not two storeys. It was one storey, then landing on a window ledge, and _then_ jumping another storey into the van. Get your facts right.” She straightened up and placed her hands on her hips, a smug look on her face. “And it’s a miracle that _you_ didn’t kill him by helping Solas heal him, given that you’re a necromancer and your speciality is more dead than living,” she finished triumphantly.

“Excuse me!?” Cullen said loudly, trying to sit up and making both of them lean over him again and push him back down with a thud and a loud _oof_.

“Do you have a problem with necromancers?” Dorian huffed, completely ignoring the man on the bed between them who was still struggling vainly against their holds on his arms.

“Do you remember that time I left Haven for a few days and I said to you “Dorian, while I’m gone, please don’t raise the dead”?” Ariana replied, also determinedly ignoring Cullen.

“Vaguely…”

“And what did you do?”

There was a short pause, then-

“….Raised the dead.”

“EXCUSE ME!”

Dorian and Ariana looked down at the red-faced detective they held, as if they had forgotten he was there. “There’s no need to shout, detective,” Dorian reprimanded him after a short, awkward silence.

Cullen opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it and closed it with a resigned sigh. “Can someone please just tell me where I am right now. And what happened,” he said defeated, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to stare at the grey stone ceiling above him.

“You’re in Haven, the home of the Righteous,” Ariana told him, releasing her hold on his arm and helping him sit up, her arm over his shoulder as he swayed to the side slightly. “If you’re wondering about the weird pressure in your ears, it’s because we’re a few meters below sea level.”

Cullen looked over at her, painfully aware of how close she was. In this light he could see that she wasn’t as pale as he first thought, her complexion holding the peach tones and ruddy freckles of the Dalish who lived in the Wilds. So what was a wild elf doing in the city voluntarily? Also her eyes were very pretty close up…

“Thanks,” he said, shuffling away from her an inch and looking down hurriedly.

“No problem, detective. I guess it was kind of my fault that your head got banged around, so I should be apologising,” she said sheepishly as she stood up and smoothed her clothes. She wasn’t wearing the fitted trench coat from before, now it was a loose light blue blouse with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a wide black belt with metal tools and picks held in a little side pouch, black trousers and high grey boots.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, wincing as he sat up a little further, the motion sending shooting pains across his forehead. Lifting his hand to the wound, he felt only a long, tender scar that felt almost healed. Magic still lingered on the skin, holding it together and prickling on his fingertips. “So, Haven? Anybody feel like telling me exactly where that is?” he grumbled, dropping his hands to the bed again.

Ariana grinned at him. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself? Oryn wants to see you anyhow.”

“Go on then,” Dorian said smugly over his shoulder as Ariana helped Cullen stand, shooting them a wicked grin. “It’s usually a good idea to not keep her Worship waiting, after all.”

 

Haven was almost terrifying, and Cullen couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Perhaps it was the sheer amount of people in it, or the way the levels seemed to stretch endlessly above and below him, or the massive metal doors with the heavy steel bars that they passed on their way down the maze of corridors and hallways. Or perhaps it was the way everyone there glared at him with fire in their eyes, as if their eyes alone could bore right through him.

“They have decided your guilt,” Ariana said as way of explanation as they walked, passing numerous small box rooms on their way down the grey stone hallway. Lights were set in small black cages on the walls, casting the whitewashed walls into an almost painful glow.

“For what happened last night? They think I was the one who tipped off the TEMPLARs to where we were.”

_We. Not them. We. Us._

She nodded, holding her chin high and striding with easy authority down the halls, making people dart out of her way and press themselves against the walls to avoid walking into her. She never changed her pace, keeping her eyes sternly ahead, as if she knew they would just get out of her way.

“They need it, detective.”

Cullen fell silent, dropping his eyes to the floor and clenching his fists, trying to ignore the glares and whispers from the people they passed.

“I had no idea there were so many members of this gang…” he ventured after a while as they reached the grated doors of the elevator at the end of the hallway. “I didn’t even know this gang existed,” he continued with a short laugh.

Ariana gave him a sideways look and pressed the button for the lowest floor, 6 levels down. There were 10 levels in total, and Cullen had no idea how many of those lay on the surface.

“We’re not a gang, detective. I mean, we are, technically. We have a leader and go against the general laws of the city, but we’re not criminals.” She winced. “Well, we are, technically… Ok, we have a leader _and_ we go against the general laws of the city and _yes,_ we’re kind of criminals as well, but… Ugh, it’s complicated.” The elf sighed deeply and folded her hands behind her back, staring at the ceiling and awkwardly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Cullen found it oddly charming.

“We offer sanctuary for the refugees coming into the city,” she continued after a while. “They pour in from the wars at the Crossroads, the struggles in the Free Marches, we got a fair ton from Kirkwall about a year ago. Without us, they’d end up on the streets, or dead. So yes, sometimes we have to go against the law, but what kind of law doesn’t protect the people who need it most?”

The lift fell silent, her words hanging in Cullen’s ears longer than he wanted them to. He never thought of it like that before… A gang that existed solely to protect vulnerable people? That was almost too noble for him to believe. That sort of nobility and sacrifice didn’t exist anywhere in his world, least of all in Denerim.

“Were you a refugee too?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

She didn’t reply, her hands clenching tighter behind her back.

“You’re Dalish, aren’t you?” Cullen pressed her further. “It’s just… rare to see them in the city. Normally they-you stay with your clans, away from human settlements.”

Still she didn’t reply, just stared stoically at the doors in front of them. Cullen snapped his mouth closed when he glanced over and saw her expression. Her jaw was tight, her eyes narrowed to slits, the tips of her ears flushed pink and mouth set into a hard, unforgiving line. Maker, he’d really stepped in it this time. The only person who was being genuinely friendly to him, and he’d probably just insulted her beyond reason.

“Yes, we do.”

The words were so quiet, muttered so darkly that he almost missed them. He glanced over at her again, but she gave no clue that she’d even spoken.

The lift clunked to a standstill before he could say anything more, the doors opening onto the last floor. It was just a simple, wide and unfurnished room, the ceiling lower than the rooms above. Water collected in puddles at the edges of the room and around the thick pillars that dotted it. As he followed Ariana out of the lift, Cullen saw a large table set in the middle of the room, a map spread over it and lit by a strange, glowing light suspended in the air above it that burned like a tiny green sun.

_More magic, wonderful._

“Detective, how nice of you to join us.”

He jumped at the sound of Oryn’s voice, echoing across the empty space to curl mockingly around his ears. She emerged from behind one of the pillars, walking over to stand behind the table with her hands folded behind her back. She, like Ariana, had shed her long coat and was dressed in a simple black turtleneck top, a holster stretched across her chest and over her shoulders, another wider one set across her waist. The silver fastenings glinted as she shifted slightly, no trace of a smile on her face now. The cocky woman he’d seen earlier had gone, replaced with a stoic and emotionless leader. Her long red hair was bound tightly in a braid down her back, making her face look even more severe and her pale green eyes almost seem to glow.

“How long are you planning to keep me here?” Cullen asked, getting straight to the point as he saw Cassandra, Varric and another dark haired woman with a clipboard coming round to stand behind Oryn. Ariana left his side and went to stand next to her leader as well. Her blonde hair and warm complexion stood out even more next to them, a golden statue in a darkened church.

Oryn shrugged. “You’re free to go back to the Wardens any time you want, detective. I’m not keeping you here at all. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t die.” Finally her stern expression cracked and she smiled at him. “I am glad you’re looking better.”

Cullen shifted awkwardly. “But, why release me?” he said gruffly, confused. “I’m guessing Morrigan is still here? I need to question her for the Wardens. You know something bigger is happening here, come on.”

“I do know. The question is, do you?” Oryn sighed and leaned over the table, her eyes flicking restlessly over the map. “We’ve known Lady Cousland was missing for a while, detective. Ever since it happened, we knew about it. And we knew that there was more going on than Alistair wanted to see. The truth is… We’ve had people going missing too.”

Next to her, Cassandra drew in a sharp breath as if to stop her leader, but a slight gesture from Oryn made her take a step back.

“I’m going to tell you this, detective, because if I’m right then we’re in more danger than you could possibly realise.” She glanced up at him. “Members of the Righteous have been going missing for months now, attacked outside their homes or work, turning up dead. Nobody should know they belong to this order, but… Someone does. Someone is giving them this information, and it’s being used to attack us from the inside.”

“And how does this have anything to do with the Wardens?”

Oryn straightened and held out her hand, Varric placing a small box into it. “Because of this.” She upended the box onto the map, and a sickeningly familiar bottle tumbled out.

Cullen’s doubts froze on his tongue as he saw it, gleaming sickeningly against the map. He took a step forwards, hearing the liquid still held inside singing to his veins and pulling him closer. “Lyrium,” he breathed.

She nodded. “Exactly like the one found at Adamant, I know.”

“It’s red.” Cullen leaned over the table, bracing his hands on the sides and making the edges dig into his palms as he leant all of his weight forwards. “Why is it red?”

“We don’t know.”

He stared at it a moment longer before rubbing a hand over his face, sighing deeply and straightening up. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I need you to trust us if we’re going to work together, detective. Like it or not, we and the Wardens have a common enemy, and we need you to help us to fight them.” Oryn walked around the edge of the table to stand beside him, concern lacing her features as her eyes bored into his. “We haven’t told anyone about the missing Warden, and we don’t plan to. Go back to Alistair, tell him that, as well as everything I’ve just said. He needs to trust us. Neither of us can do this alone and neither of us will be safe until whoever is attacking us is in the ground.” Her voice was low, imploring him to agree with her. “Please, detective. For all our sakes.”

Cullen held her gaze for a few moments before his eyes slid to the side, seeing all of the Righteous standing opposite them looking at him with the same expression. A chill crept into his stomach as he realised they were afraid. These strong, wild, fierce people who had taken down two lots of TEMPLARs, caught a Witch of the Wilds, forged a group so impressive in size and kept it completely secret for years, were afraid. And that, more than anything, made his blood freeze in his veins.

“Alright. I’ll help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me so long to write this, I've been busy with University stuff and I'm also in Hamlet which is taking up 90% of my time. Anyway, if you liked it as always feel free to leave a kudos or even *gasp* a comment! Credit for the "Don't raise the dead" joke is here: http://incorrectdragonage.tumblr.com/post/111713233897/submitted-by-asmilinggoddess


	6. Trip for Biscuits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Trip for Biscuits means a journey that merited nothing. Or in this case, an interlude chapter full of musings and character development. 
> 
> I listened to this mix while writing it, it's a lovely little collection! http://8tracks.com/sarcastichearts/writing-mix

The trip back to Cullen’s office took an age. After he was taken to the surface by a couple of guards, he was driven back to the bar where he had first met Oryn and her team. He didn’t know where Morrigan was, and assumed that she would contact him if it was needed, but so far Oryn had given him more information than he thought he could ever get from the Witch. And now he needed to go home and figure out what he was going to tell Alistair.

It felt like he was caught in the tides of two forces he only barely understood, like a tiny stone trapped in between two massive, ever moving and ever changing gears that moved forwards relentlessly, crushing him tighter and tighter as they continued on their course with no regard for his existence. Except the way Oryn and Alistair spoke to him it seemed more like he was somehow crucial to their plans while simultaneously giving him no leads as to why that was.

Cullen growled and rubbed a hand over his forehead, pulling his collar up against the cold. He slightly regretted asking the driver to drop him off at the bar and not continue to his office, but he needed the time to think about everything that was happening to him. His boots crunched against the slight frost that lay on the ground. An early twilight dusted the sky with pale, almost colourless orange and blues that shot across the darkening sky like fading scars. People scurried past each other without acknowledging anything besides their own existences, eager to be home and away from the streets where the lamps were already starting to flicker to life, casting shining gold circles on the pavements.

He reached his building and opened the front door, slowly climbing the stairs with dragging feet and a weight on his shoulders that threatened to pull him down to the bottom again with each passing step. When he opened the door to his office he half expected to find a shadowy figure standing there, waiting for him.

_“Well, well, well, Knight-Captain, looks like you haven’t lost your touch.”_

Cullen scowled as the voice echoed across his memory. To think all of this started with one simple statement. But was it right? Did he still have the skills and reflexes from his TEMPLAR training or had they faded too, like his purpose, his drive, his motivation to help others. After all, that’s why he started this Private Detective thing, to help people even though he wasn’t their protector anymore. After Kirkwall, he knew the system was broken, he couldn’t be a part of something that was so corrupt anymore. In this world, the only way to trust what you did was to work completely alone. No room for back-alley dealings when you were the only one working. No need to trust someone to have your back when there was nobody there in the first place.

The door closed with a click behind him, and Cullen didn’t bother to turn on the lights, instead simply hanging his coat on the rack and walking to his desk, slumping into the seat with a heavy sigh and roughly tugging off his tie. A grim way of looking at things, for sure, but the most pragmatic. He’d trusted the First Enchanter to watch the mages at the Calenhad Circle, trusted Knight Commander Meredith in Kirkwall, and that trust had been rewarded with his mind being broken and his purpose being torn away from him. No, he didn’t think he’d trust anyone or anything like that again. Alistair may be an old friend, but he was the revered leader of a massive gang now, he wasn’t the same person Cullen had once known in training. He didn’t have the same motives or actions that bright-eyed boy had had, so therefore he may as well be a stranger, and Cullen didn’t trust strangers.

And he trusted Oryn even less. She may be the Herald of the Righteous, almost worshipped by her followers, but to him she was nothing more than a naive fanatic, albeit one with her priorities in the right place. But a fanatic was a fanatic, and although he believed in the Maker as well, he doubted they looked at it in the same way. When it was crunch time, he doubted she would place his safety or cautions in any great importance.

He wasn’t even going to start on how little he trusted Morrigan.

Still… now he thought about it, there were others he could see himself growing close to, even working in a team with. Ariana was one, of course. She was clearly a very talented fighter and knew her way around the city, Wynne was intelligent, calm and caring but still had an edge to her, and even Leliana could be an ally if properly approached, but that was it. He still barely knew them.

Sighing again, Cullen opened one of the drawers beside him and pulled out a notebook and pen. Time to do what he did best, use the logic and pragmatism passed down to him by the TEMPLARs.

_Things I Already Know (Confirmed)_

  1. _Alistair’s wife is a Warden who can take out someone who was hidden for years with loads of security protecting him_



  1. _She sounds amazing_



  1. _~~Possibly once trained as a TEMPLAR?~~ – Not confirmed, and I doubt this_



  1. _The Wardens don’t know about the Righteous, but the Righteous know about the Wardens and have an informant within them. Not sure if I should tell Alistair about this._



  1. _Cousland’s disappearance, the attack on Adamant, the weird red lyrium and the missing Righteous are all linked._



_THEREFORE_

_The people who are behind it use the red lyrium, so therefore NOT the usual TEMPLARs_

_This is confirmed by the red shards from the attack yesterday: Clearly not normal TEMPLARs_

_Are they the only ones involved? Possibly linked to Magisters?_

_Whoever is involved must have knowledge of the Wardens, otherwise they wouldn’t know where Adamant was, and also knowledge of the Righteous. Maybe a leak in both those organisations? See point 4. above_

**_Whatever it is, I think this must just be the beginning. These attacks and actions have no motive yet, but are still linked, so must lead to something bigger._ **

_Should I be there when it happens?_

Cullen stared at the last phrase, written in his neat, careful handwriting on the page now covered in notes and crossed-out musings. Should he be there when this all went to hell? Should he throw his lot in with people he barely knew for a cause he didn’t really care much about? The more he thought about it, the more he realised he really shouldn’t continue this. What stakes did he have in this game? None. Before a few days ago, he didn’t even know that the Wardens were still active or that the Righteous existed. And now he knew that not only were they active, they controlled more of Denerim than anyone knew. It was like they were the puppet masters, pulling everyone’s strings subtly and quietly without anyone being any the wiser. He wondered how many times his strings had been pulled by their unseen hands.

But despite all of that, he wanted to stay in this game. No, he _needed_ to stay in this game, but for what reason he didn’t know yet. Maybe it was just another mystery waiting to be solved by him, like the missing Warden or the red lyrium maybe he would discover what it was by following this through to the end.

Cullen wrote one final thing on his notepad before setting the pen aside and standing up, tucking his shirt in where it had become loose at the back and doing up his tie again. Grabbing his coat from beside the door, he locked up his office again and set out down the stairs, footsteps receding into the darkness as he walked out of the building and left his concerns and confusion behind, neatly written in a notebook on his desk. One word remained at the end of all of his musings, a punctuation to the worries laid out on the page.

 

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be part of a way bigger chapter, but it had such a complete feel to it I had to upload it separately! I'm going to Berlin in a few days, so this might have to last you guys a week until I get back. Don't worry, this is the brief calm before the storm really gets going ;)
> 
> Anyway, if you like it as usual feel free to comment and kudos!


	7. Scat Singer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, sorry this took so long! Lot of talk to get out of the way in this chapter... Very hard to write and keep track of everything I have planned without giving too much away yet. Anyway, enjoy! And as always, please feel free to leave a comment, or kudos if you liked it.
> 
> Also in case anyone was wondering, my icon is Ariana.

“You lost her!?” Alistair roared in Cullen’s face, pinning him up against the wall of his office. His fist was balled into the front of Cullen’s shirt, straining the fabric uncomfortably against his chest.

“I didn’t lose her!” Cullen yelled back, shoving the younger man away easily and tugging his clothes back into place, shooting a glare at Alistair as he did so. “I told you, she’s with the Righteous.”

“Yeah, a group I’ve never heard of before but apparently know everything about _me_ ,” Alistair growled at him, pacing around the circle of his office, his hand pressed to his forehead. “Remind me how that’s meant to make me feel better, Rutherford.” The last word was practically spat his way.

Cullen’s glare deepened. At times like this it was easy to remember how green Alistair really was, just a kid playing at a grown up game. “It’s not meant to make you feel better, _Theirin_ ,” he retorted, making the other man stop his pacing and glance over at him. “You need to remember you’re part of a way bigger picture here, before all of this happened with Lady Cousland, you were part of the system. Of course people are gonna know about you, you’re the head of one of the most prolific gangs in Denerim.” Cullen barked out a short, harsh laugh. “Maker’s breath, Alistair, what part of any of this is gonna make you feel better, I mean _really_ , come on!”

All the fight seemed to go out of Alistair in that moment and he sat down heavily on one of his armchairs, his hands thrown behind his head as he leaned forwards and braced his elbows on his knees. He stared blankly at the space in front of him with wide, glassy eyes. Cullen knew that look, it was the look of a man who had lost everything, was completely broken and held together only by thin wisps of hope which grew thinner by the day.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Alistair finally said, his voice slightly muffled but calmer. “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s ok, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Cullen sat down with a slight groan, still sore from the fight earlier.

The fire in the hearth behind them crackled lowly, and the ticking of the small, intricate clock on the mantle above it were the only two sounds in the room. Cullen contemplated the man before him, still unable to see him as anything but the bright eyed teenager he’d known in the Order, all full of laughter and mischief. Seeing him like this… A man with sad, tired eyes and too many lines from worry on his face. It didn’t match up, it was too different.

_What happened to you, Alistair._

“I’m only a few years younger than you,” came the quiet but light-hearted reply, a small, sad laugh behind Alistair’s lips.

Cullen made a noncommittal grunt and sat forwards, lacing his fingers together. “Come on, Alistair. What are you gonna do now?” It was said like a dare, a challenge. A clear message of “Get up off your arse and do something, Theirin”.

There was a short silence, and just as Cullen was beginning to worry that Alistair hadn’t heard him the other man lifted his head and Cullen caught a glimpse of the old fire in his eyes as he grinned widely and wickedly.

“Probably something stupid.”

***

As Oryn stepped out of the lift into the belly of the Warden’s hideout, the air seemed to fall silent. Nobody had ever seen this gang leader, never even heard of her before today and yet here she was, self-important as you please, not a hair out of place as she strode slowly and purposefully out into the main hall. Cassandra and Dorian flanked her, followed by Varric and Ariana.

Cullen looked back at Oryn. He had to admit, she could wear a flawless leader’s mask well, all the emotion and quiet humanity of their last meeting had vanished behind the guise of a woman who knew she was important, knew she was gorgeous and powerful and dangerous. Her chin was held high and a small smile lifted her red painted lips, eyes hidden below the brim of her hat but she still seemed able to dare people to look at her without bothering to look at them herself.

It was a carefully cultivated performance that she carried so easily, as if she was never any different. She’d swapped her combat boots and black turtleneck for a pair of black knee-high stiletto boots, tightly fitting black trousers and her cinched coat with a wide white collar thrown open in a deep V neck, baring her throat as she strolled down the walkway towards the platform. She wore her wide brimmed dark red hat again, her hair curling over her shoulder in the same way as when Cullen had first seen her.

“That’s their leader?” Alistair murmured to Cullen as they watched the delegates walk towards them, all eyes in the hall following them.

“Yeah.”

Alistair let out a low whistle. “Hell of a lady,” he said, raising his eyebrows to Cullen as he was given a sharp look. “Not in that way, I’m a married man. Besides, she looks more…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.

“Suspicious?” Cullen suggested darkly, still not entirely trusting of this woman who could change her guise so easily.

“Terrifying.” Alistair gave a nervous laugh. “Maker, Elissa would be much better at this…”

A smile edged on Cullen’s lips at his words. “Similar, were they?”

Alistair grinned. “In a way. What is this Oryn like?” he asked as he nodded to Wynne and Leliana to go down to meet the delegates.

Cullen thought for a moment. “Hard to describe, and even harder to understand. Her gang is less of a gang and more of a religious sect, but they’re not fundamentalists, at least not from what I can tell. They almost worship her, but she doesn’t seem to be egotistical because of it. I don’t know, being near her… it’s like being blindfolded. What you think you see may not be what is actually there. But I have no doubt she could destroy me in a second if she wanted.”

Alistair pressed his lips together in a hard line. “Elissa used to be like that, when I first knew her.” He gave a harsh laugh again. “And we wonder why most storms are named after women,” he remarked, giving Cullen a mischievous look. “In this business, I’ve never met a woman who couldn’t destroy things in her own unique way.”

Cullen thought on his words for a minute. He looked down at Wynne, Leliana, Oryn and Cassandra. Strong women, though not in the same way. Wynne was quiet and wise, Leliana was playful but sharp, Oryn was calculating and ruthless it seemed, and he could tell just by looking at Cassandra that she held strength enviable by most men. Even Ariana seemed like she was stronger in a way she kept hidden, and even with all Cullen’s skills in reading people he couldn’t quite see it yet. He liked that, not being able to get a clear read on her. It was in a different way to Oryn, she was difficult to read in the same way that trying to list all the plants growing in an open field was difficult, because there was so much there and because it felt unnecessary to do so.

“Oryn seems sincere, but there’s something about her I don’t trust yet,” Cullen said finally, lifting his chin as the delegates were invited to follow Wynne up the stairs towards them. “I’m not sure what her role is in this game, she seems to know an awful lot for someone who’s stayed under the radar for so long. I think it would be unwise to tell her anything we wouldn’t want used against us, or that we’d be unable to deal with if it were.” He sighed. “But it’s your prerogative, Alistair, you know this world much better than I do. I do believe she is sincere about solving this, though.”

Alistair nodded. “Thank you. You’re good at this,” he said with a grin. “I should have hired you years ago.”

“Hired implies I’m getting paid for this,” Cullen grumbled, which Alistair brushed off with an easy laugh.

“Getting paid in knowledge is everything in this business, my friend,” came the cryptic reply. “Welcome to Weisshaupt!” Alistair lifted his arms in happy greeting to the Righteous, Wynne taking her place behind him again. Leliana walked around from her place in the back of the group, and as she passed Cassandra a look was exchanged between the two women. It was quick, lasting no more than a second but Cullen noticed the way their eyes caught and held the look in a telling way.

_So Leliana is the leak…Interesting._ He wouldn’t tell Alistair yet.

“Thank you, Warden-Commander,” Oryn replied with a charming smile.

Alistair waved the title off. “I was only Warden-Commander with my wife. While she’s gone I’m just Warden, but when she returns please feel free to call me that again. Please, follow me.”

***

“So,” Alistair started as he sat down on one side of the long, mahogany table, motioning for Oryn to take the seat opposite.

Wynne, Leliana and Zevran sat next to Alistair and observed the Righteous in front of them with a mixture of curious and suspicious looks. Zevran seemed the most at ease, lounging back in his seat and looking Dorian up and down appreciatively, with did not go unnoticed by the mage who sniffed and turned away, but judging by the blush dusting his cheeks the attention wasn’t unappreciated. Leliana was impassive, her look carefully blank as she scanned those in front of her, a fact Cullen noted. Wynne just looked curious, but guarded.

“So,” Oryn said back with an easy smile, taking off her hat and coat and hanging them on the chair behind her, lacing her fingers together on the table top. The two gang leaders stared each other down for a while, the large conference room falling silent as the gangs measured each other up, tension weighing heavy on the air between them.

Alistair broke the silence first. “I have to admit, I was grateful when I heard you had no intention of sharing the news of Elissa’s… disappearance.”

Oryn’s smile grew, and Cullen swallowed nervously. “Take it as a gesture of good faith, I help you and maybe you’ll be more amenable to helping me.” She leaned back. “I’m gonna get straight to the point here, Warden Alistair, the news of your wife’s unfortunate absence is the least of your worries. There’s something bigger going on here, and I intend to stop it with or without your assistance.” Oryn leaned forwards again and placed her hands on the table, palms facing upwards.

“My offer is simple, you can either aid us, possibly finding your wife in the process and the reason why you were attacked at your seemingly impenetrable fortress. Or you can stay out of our way, because whatever your answer I’m catching the bastards who are hunting us and I will make them pay.”

The last three words were spat out, fire suddenly springing up behind Oryn’s passive and flawless mask and revealing the person within. The person that many had sworn to obey and follow even into the jaws of Hell itself. The person Cullen suddenly didn’t want to ever be on the wrong side of.

Her offer hung in the air, Alistair silently contemplating her words.

“If I may ask,” Wynne broke in, after watching Alistair while he thought and presumably realising he needed more time to decide. “What exactly is your… organisation’s stake in all of this?”

“Other than finding out what happened to our members who were attacked?” Oryn replied with a sigh. “It’s… complicated. The Righteous stay under the radar for a reason, many of our members are refugees from Kirkwall who are looking to avoid TEMPLAR attention. I was there when the city fell, I can understand their fear. We have a lot of mages in our ranks too who don’t wish to be confined to the Circle. Combine that with recent migrants from Redcliffe, and you’re looking at a lot of people who don’t want to be found but all need to be protected. That’s what we do, we protect them. What’s happening now… The attacks, they’re making our job a lot harder.”

Oryn’s gaze grew distant and her lips pressed together in a hard line. “We’re trying to make this city better, the TEMPLARs need to be taken down but in the right way. But now we’re being attacked, we can’t do anything we’ve set out to do. We just sit there and get slaughtered.”

“You were at Kirkwall?” Cullen’s voice seemed to break through her trance and she glanced up at him, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders.

“Almost three years ago, recruiting Varric, yes.”

Cullen fell silent. Obviously she had no idea that he had been in the city at the same time, and a TEMPLAR no less. He had no doubt she would probably kill him if he ever told her that. But maybe…

“Did you ever meet a man named Hawke?”

Varric’s eyes narrowed slightly for a second and Cassandra’s fists clenched on the table as Cullen watched Oryn carefully.

“No,” Oryn confessed finally.

A weight seemed to lift out of Cullen’s stomach at her words. She didn’t know Hawke, so she couldn’t know what Cullen’s role in the Kirkwall uprising was. He could relax, for the time being at least.

“So… You help refugees and you fight for justice in the city,” Zevran said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the table. “I assume you’re some kind of vigilante type then?” He winked at Oryn and gave her a wicked grin. “With the sultry mask and the dangerous red lipstick and the tight little bodysuit that shows off your-“ His words were cut off as Leliana kicked him under the table with her sharp stiletto boot.

Oryn shook her head with a small smile, not seeming to mind Zevran’s shameless flirting. “No, I’m not a vigilante. Just someone who knows what the TEMPLARs are really like.”

“And even if we were, I don’t think we’d go for the skin-tight bodysuits. Terribly uncomfortable business, yes?” Dorian snorted. “And they look absolutely terrible.”

“On you, I doubt anything would look terri-Ow!” Zevran jumped as Leliana kicked him again, harder this time. He shot a glare at his partner who responded with a sweet smile that made Cullen’s teeth ache to just look at it.

Oryn snorted and looked back at Alistair. “So, do you have your answer ready yet? Or should we stall some more. I believe Varric has some tales he is dying to share, should buy us another hour or so.”

Varric laid a hand on his chest, laid bare by an open-necked red silk shirt. “You wound me, Herald. It would be at least 2.”

Next to Oryn, Cassandra made a quiet “ugh” of disgust, her disgruntled expression only growing as Varric rocked back on his chair and winked at her.

“No, I have made my decision, but thank you for the offer,” Alistair replied, and stood up, Wynne, Leliana and Zevran mirroring his movement almost flawlessly. Oryn also stood, her team standing to attention beside her as well.

Cullen quickly jumped to his feet as well, heart beating painfully strongly in his throat as he glanced over at Alistair’s stony face. If they didn’t accept the offer, then they might lose any chance at finding out who the TEMPLARs were who attacked them the other night and where Lady Cousland was. He just hoped Alistair would decide with his head and not his heart for once. Sure it was going to be dangerous working with the Righteous but Cullen didn’t see any way around it at this point, they all needed each other. Steely tension laced the air between the two leaders and Cullen was reminded of pictures of armies facing each other down on the battlefield, daring the other to look away first.

“We accept your offer of an alliance,” Alistair said finally. “I agree with you, this attack is bigger than I thought earlier and if there’s a chance more people might be hurt then I cannot abandon them. I’ll join you, the Wardens are at your side.”

The tension broke with Oryn’s genuine and relieved smile at his words. “I’m glad, Warden Alistair, honestly I didn’t want to do this without you. Together, we can protect both our teams, and I promise to share all the knowledge we’ve collected so far on this with the Wardens.” Her smile grew to a grin momentarily before she cleared her throat and controlled her expression again. “That being said, there’s a few things I wish to discuss with you now, before we get started.”

She sat down again, the others following her lead, Alistair leaning forwards  and giving her his full attention.

“The attacks on my people occurred outside Haven, which means that whoever did it knows their involvement with us. They were volunteers, a few immigration officers, a councilman, a reporter, people who had their identities highly protected to the point where nobody could tell they worked for us in the outside world. But somehow, someone did, and was able to attack them in their homes.” Oryn sighed and rubbed a hand over her forehead. “I think we have the same problem you do. Someone who knows the intricacies of our organisations is telling someone else, and they’re attacking us.”

“Why would those members be attacked? Did they have anything in common besides the Righteous?” Cullen asked.

Oryn shook her head. “No, as far as I know they didn’t even know each other. They were just…. Attacked. I don’t think they were chosen because of who they were, I think they were chosen randomly. They were some of our more mobile members, it made them easy targets. And they were left in their homes, quite horrendously killed, and the killers didn’t even try to cover it up. It’s like they wanted them to be found, like they were…” she trailed off, her brow furrowed in anger and confusion.

“A warning,” Cullen finished for her.

Oryn’s eyes snapped back up to his before she nodded. “Yes. I think they wanted us to see that they could slaughter us easily, casually without worrying about the consequences.” Her voice was quiet, almost hoarse, and Cullen could see lines of worry and exhaustion around her eyes. It looked like her mask wasn’t as flawless as he had assumed.

“It was the same at Adamant, the bodies were left out for everyone to see. I think you’re right, we clearly have a leak. Whether they’re the ones actually carrying out this horrific acts remains to be seen, but we know after what Cullen has told me of your little… encounter the other night that the TEMPLARs are somehow involved.” Alistair sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face. “Even though, judging by his report, those TEMPLARs weren’t your run of the mill law enforcers.”

“They weren’t. I brought this with me, thought your researchers could have a look at it and figure out what the hell it is,” Oryn said, motioning at Ariana.

The elf, who until then had been sitting silently and watching the scene with oddly bright and quick eyes, nodded in reply and drew out a package wrapped in black material from the depths of her jacket. She glanced at Cullen as she laid it carefully on the table, sliding it over to Oryn who took it with a gloved hand.

Cullen’s brow knitted together slightly as he caught the concern in Ariana’s eyes before they darted away again, watching Oryn as she opened the parcel with delicate, slow movements.

The glow of the red lyrium cast Oryn’s face into strange, eerie relief. Webs of light ebbed out of the hissing shard and Cullen swallowed nervously, sweat beading on his brow at being so close to such potent lyrium. From the looks of it, Dorian wasn’t holding up too well either, his eyes strangely glassy and lips parted as he leaned forwards slightly as Oryn pushed the shard closer to Alistair.

“What is that?” he asked in a whisper, eyes riveted on the object between them.

“Red lyrium. It was shot at us by one of the TEMPLARs the other night,” Oryn replied in grim tones. “It’s not something to be trifled with, we keep it covered out of safety for our mages more than anything else. It seems to be a little… intoxicating for them.”

At her words, Ariana laid a hand on Dorian’s arm and the man jumped, catching himself before he could lean forwards over the table any more.

Oryn quickly covered the lyrium, breaking its spell on the others. Cullen sagged in his seat, trying to control his breathing. The way the lyrium held his mind was terrible but addictive, and even as Oryn passed it to Wynne and she concealed it in her robes, he could feel the tug of it. He envied Alistair for not being able to feel its affects, the kid had left the Order before he’d been started on lyrium. Lucky bastard.

“We’ll look into it, thank you. We found something similar to that at Adamant, it looked like a bottle that once contained red lyrium in a liquid form.” Alistair gave Oryn a grateful smile. “At least we know we’re on the right track now, thank you.”

Oryn nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

“Of course, there’s still the problem of the informer… How are we going to tell who it is?” Alistair sighed.

“Well, we know it has to be someone who would have very detailed knowledge of the most protected areas of our organisations.” Oryn bit her lip. “I don’t know about you, but even my Inner Circle don’t know the information they’d need to in order to stage these attacks.”

“How the hell do you manage that?” Alistair said incredulously.

Oryn shrugged. “I compartmentalise. They know only what they have to, and together that forms the whole unit. It’s like a puzzle, no one person knows everything, except me.”

“That’s… a good idea. Damn. Wish I’d thought of that,” Alistair grumbled. “But even so, nobody but myself and my most trusted advisors know where Adamant really is. We feed rumours to the rest of the Wardens, so each one thinks it’s somewhere different. The only ones who know where it is are myself and Elissa.”

Something clicked in Cullen’s brain at that. _The only ones who know where it is is Alistair and Elissa, the only one who is missing is Elissa, everyone else is dead, and we don’t know why she would have been left alive. Shit… Shit! Everything points to Elissa being the informer on this end. But… Why would she do that?_ Cullen bit his lip as the others continued talking around him, focusing on the delicate and subtle grain on the table’s varnished surface.

_What did Morrigan say when I met her? “She knew what she was going to be walking into…_ _Elissa knew who would be attacking, I’m sure of it.” Why would she know who was attacking? Unless… Unless she’d been the one to set things up. If she’s the informer… Alistair will never believe me but right now all the evidence is pointing straight at her. I have to say something. Shit, I’m sorry Alistair. Please don’t hit me for this._

“It could be Lady Cousland.”

The table fell as silent as the grave, Cullen’s words hanging in the air. All eyes were on him, but Cullen couldn’t look anywhere but at the table top. He couldn’t bear to look at the expression in his friend’s eyes, but he could guess what would be there. Betrayal, hurt, confusion, rage. Rage most of all, he suspected. More seconds ticked by without anyone speaking, barely anyone breathing, and Cullen tore his eyes up and finally looked at the faces of those around him.

The Wardens next to him were all shocked, mouths hanging open and brows knitted in confusion. Leliana’s impassive mask was broken, and her eyes were laced with hurt next to her Zevran stared at him with burning anger on his face. He’d never seen the two assassins looking so emotional, and he had to admit he wasn’t feeling too safe next to them now.

The Righteous at least had the common decency to look confused and incredulous of his statement, presumably out of respect for Alistair. Oryn looked embarrassed more than anything else, her eyes flicking between the detective and the Warden.

Finally Cullen’s eyes moved to Alistair. Yep, he was right. Rage was definitely the most prevalent emotion on his face right now. His fiery eyes held Cullen’s with a searing glare, burning right through him to his core. His mouth opened, but no words came out, his fists clenching so hard on the table top that his knuckles glowed white through his skin. Cullen swallowed. He had to say it, that’s what Alistair had brought him here for, yes he was the man’s friend but he was also a detective, and he was going to do his job no matter what the cost.

Alistair stood up in a swift, fluid motion. _Here it comes, he’s going to hit me. Probably deserve it, but I had to say it Alistair, you’ll understand eventually. Maker, someone say something this silence is going to kill me before Alistair has the chance to._

“We’re done here.” Alistair’s clipped tones broke through Cullen’s thoughts. “Dismissed.” Without another look at Cullen, he turned on his heel and strode away, the others following him quickly and silently until only Cullen remained in the conference room, face burning and palms sweating.

“Well done, detective, you really stepped in shit this time…” he sighed to himself, leaning forwards and bowing his head, shutting his eyes and letting the empty silence of the room fill his mind.

“To say the least,” a low voice said from beside the door.

Cullen’s head jerked up and he saw Zevran casually leaning on the doorframe, one boot on the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. The burning anger Cullen had seen earlier had left his face, and his impassive and apathetic eyes scanned his own slowly.

“You really must have no idea who Lady Cousland is, if you thought saying that in a room full of Wardens was a good idea,” he continued, standing up straight and walking slowly over to where Cullen sat.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea, I just thought it had to be said,” Cullen muttered angrily, twisting his hands together. “All the evidence point towards it, I was just doing what I was brought here to do.”

Zevan shrugged. “Say what you like, detective, you’re still going to be wrong. Everyone here knows it, if it makes you feel better if you apologise to Alistair then we’ll forget you were ever so _cazzo_ _stolto_ to say it.” He sat down next to the other man and stared at him some more with large dark brown eyes.

“I don’t speak much Antivan but I’d imagine what you said was probably derogatory, and at my expense.”

“You’d be right, my friend.” Zevran rose and patted Cullen’s shoulder. “Come, it’s time you learned about who Elissa Cousland really is besides what image Alistair has no doubt painted with rosy tones. A lovely picture, no doubt, but she is far more than just his wife, and you’d do well to remember it.”


	8. Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs playing on the radio are https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUFg6HvljDE&list=PL7C9F345DB5C8626B&index=3 and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2S1I_ien6A&list=PL7C9F345DB5C8626B&index=14 which are great for this chapter generally.
> 
> Also I don't know if I mentioned before but I absolutely adore Zevran, which is probably really obvious in this chapter. I think we all wish someone would speak about us the way Zev speaks about the Warden...

“First things first, when I knew her she didn’t go by Elissa,” Zevran started, leaning against the railing and staring out over the activity of Weisshaupt’s underbelly beneath them. The two of them were standing on one of the upper walkways of the bunker, Cullen’s head almost brushing the ceiling if he stood up straight. The noises of the smiths working below was a dull roar and nobody even glanced up their way, too absorbed in their work to even notice the elf and the detective high above them. A perfect place for a discreet chat.

“She was called Kaira and she will always be Kaira to me, a middle name that she abandoned once she became Alistair’s wife. I had the pleasure of meeting her before that though.” Zevran’s tone was distant, soft, gentle even. “She was very… different.”

“And when did you fall for her?” Cullen mirrored Zevran’s stance, resting his forearms on the railing and giving the elf a sideways glance.

To his credit, Zevran didn’t even flinch or blink at the accusation. “I freely admit it, Lady Cousland- Kaira is very important to me and always will be. And yes, I did love her once in a romantic sense, but now she is a friend, something which is highly discredited by many men in my position but as I see it…” A smile grew over Zevran’s face as he ran his fingers over the leather gloves he wore, and he grinned at Cullen. “Her friendship is one of my greatest treasures, detective.”

Cullen returned the smile, dropping his head and laughing softly. He could learn to like Zevran, he decided. Maybe even trust him one day. “You said she was different?” he asked after a while, eager to hear what Zevran had to say.

He laughed. “Yes, that is one word for it. She was… how do you say it in Fereldan… a hellraiser? A very accurate word. She raised enough hell to make some very powerful people extremely pissed off, causing chaos in a spectacular and beautiful way. And so they hired me to take care of her,” he said delicately, lacing his fingers together. “Imagine my surprise when this woman, a human, had bested me and had me bargaining for my life!”

“She beat you?”

“Quite efficiently, yes! A wonderful experience, my friend, to be defeated and held at dagger-point by a beautiful woman,” Zevran told him delightedly, his eyes sparkling. “Especially when you thought that you were the best at what you did… An eye-opening experience indeed.”

Cullen watched the assassin with gently surprised eyes. This wasn’t a side of Zevran he’d expected to see, but it was interesting to see none the less. And the way he spoke of the Warden… Sometimes it was nice to just listen to someone talking about the person they loved. “What was she like then?”

Zevran drew in a deep breath, lifting his chin and thinking. “Ah… where to start… Looks first, yes? She was stunning, always will be. Beautiful dark hair, strong jaw and delicate chin, gorgeous mouth that made you think all kinds of dirty things when you looked at it, which I did often. Skin like alabaster when it wasn’t lit with anger and passion, which was often. She had tattoos around her eyes, wonderful things criss-crossing her cheekbones and across her eyelids in the most perfect, dangerous patterns. And her eyes…. Mio dio, they were incredible. Bright blue and burning, always _burning,_ brighter than the sun. One look from her and you were… you were on fire, my friend.” Another deep sigh issued from the elf as if he longed to burn in that moment.

Cullen found himself drawing in a deep breath as well, mesmerised by the way Zevran’s words wove through the air into his mind, painting the woman he described in such sharp, beautiful colours. He doubted he would ever find someone who could make him see the world like that.

“She was a natural leader, even then,” Zevran continued after a while, his tone less animated and softer, quieter. “The first reason why I followed is because she told me to and I just _obeyed_ , without a second thought. A dangerous power, to be sure. Later of course, I followed because I loved her, it’s the main reason why I stay here and the only reason why I know you’re wrong about her being the informer.” The words weren’t spoken bitterly, just matter-of-factly. “She would never do something like that, from the beginning she was extremely strong-willed and true to her word. She would be the worst informer, believe me. And she would never betray Alistair. She loves him. My love for her is a mere droplet compared to the oceans she feels for him,” Zevran said with a smile.

“And… that doesn’t bother you?” Cullen asked, brow furrowed. The way Zevran spoke about Lady Cousland he’d have expected Alistair to have ended up with a knife in his back rather than married to the woman herself.

Zevran shrugged. “Bother me? Detective, it tears me up inside. But what an honour it is,” he proclaimed, spreading his arms and crying out in joy, “to be broken by one like her!” Dropping his arms, he gave a slight chuckle and Cullen wondered for a moment how long it had taken him to convince himself he was truly happy about his situation.

“She remains my friend, first and foremost, and her happiness is paramount. Believe me when I say I would do anything to make that woman happy. And I like Alistair,” Zevran added quickly. “He’s a good man, the kind she deserves. Both of them are important to me, and I would and have killed for them to ensure their happiness.”

“How did they meet?”

“It was during one of our less successful runs against the Circle, the one by Lake Calenhad. We were trying to sneak out a few of our friends and destroy their phylacteries so they could come with us safely, but the TEMPLARs got wind of us and we were cornered. To be honest, I thought we were done for. Then, all of a sudden, there’s strange masked people in front of us, pushing the TEMPLARs back and yelling at us to run.”

“And that was Alistair?”

Zevran nodded. “Yes, although we didn’t know that then. Afterwards we managed to track our rescuers down and find out that we had been saved by the mighty Grey Wardens themselves. Wonderful story, yes?”

“Wait… Alistair was a Warden before Lady Cousland?” Cullen frowned. “He must have just been a kid.”

“20 years old actually, if I remember correctly, the same age as Kaira. We tracked them down a few months later and that’s when the ex-TEMPLAR and Warden Alistair fell in love with the infamous criminal Kaira Cousland.” A wide smile grew over Zevran’s face, furrowing his cheeks with deep laughter lines. “She joined the Wardens a few months later and tried to convince me to do the same but… Ah, Warden life was not for me. I had too many… loose ends to tie up.”

“Aren’t you still a Crow?” Cullen asked, thinking back to their conversation when he’d first met the man.

Zevran laughed and winced. “Technically, I’m a lost cause, at least according to the Crows themselves. I have the training and the resources and am one of the best assassins you will ever find, but no, I am no longer technically a Crow. I am a Crow in all but payment. I work for the Wardens now.”

“Ah,” Cullen replied, as if he actually understood how the hell that would work. The two lapsed into silence for a while, watching the smiths work beneath them, the heat from the massive kilns and vents brushing over their faces and casting orange glows across their skin. Zevran was a good storyteller, Cullen thought to himself. And he knew a lot about Elissa, or Kaira, Cousland now, but that still didn’t answer his question of how everyone was able to tell she would never be the informer. Morrigan had told him that she had known what would happen, or at least had acted like she did. Unless the witch was lying which was a distinct possibility…

“That still doesn’t explain why you know she’s not the leak,” Cullen muttered after a while, his mind becoming too confused to try and figure out on his own.

There was a short silence, and Cullen began to doubt if the other man had heard him, but then Zevran sighed deeply and turned to face him directly.

“Unfortunately, you have never had the pleasure of meeting her. Because of that it is almost impossible for you to understand why she would never, _ever_ sell out the Wardens. I will only say one more thing to convince you; the Wardens once aided her in seeking retribution for a horrendous crime committed against her. They supported her when others did not, and for that reason she will always be in their debt, and therefore would never betray them.” Zevran’s tone was low, grave and his eyes bored into Cullen’s with a severe stare.  “She would rather die first.”

A lump rose in Cullen’s throat at his words, and he swallowed it down quickly, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “Ok. I get it, I was wrong.” He shuffled his feet and wished he’d been told all those things earlier, he would have saved himself a lot of embarrassment.

A hand clapped him on his shoulder and Cullen looked up, seeing Zevran smiling at him genuinely and reassuringly. Funny, and he’d thought Leliana had been the more humane of the two. Maybe not.

“You could not have known, my friend. Don’t worry, we’re all wrong more times than we like to admit.” One more pat on the shoulder and Zevran’s hand dropped to his side again. “Now, come on. I’m sure there’s lots of important mysteries to be solved that we missed out on while being up here. Although your company is infinitely preferable to hearing about them,” he continued with a wink, and Cullen couldn’t help but smile back and roll his eyes slightly.

Yeah, he could see himself becoming friends with Zevran.

***

“Detective? Hello? Detective?”

Cullen’s head jerked up, a piece of paper stuck to the side of his face. “Huh?” he mumbled unintelligibly, swiping the paper off his face and blinking blearily. “Wha?” he tried again.

“Detective, I know you’re there, pick up your phone.”

Cullen shook his head, wiping his hands over his face and trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. He was back in his office, a week had passed before Wynne ordered him to go home and get some rest, and another week or so had passed with no word from either the Wardens or the Righteous, but apparently that blissfully quiet time had passed. His answering machine was barking angrily at him and it sounded a lot like…

“For the love of the Maker, pick up the fucking phone before I march over there and shove it up your-“

Cullen scrambled to pick up the phone, almost knocking it off the desk in his haste.

“Dorian?”

A loud sigh invaded his ear. “Yes, detective, it’s me. Surprising you couldn’t tell that already from the dulcet tones and idle threats. We need you back at Weisshaupt, we’ve had something of a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough?” Cullen fumbled with his braces, tugging them up over his shoulders and tucking the phone under his ear as he reached beneath his desk to grab his shoes. “What kind?”

“The interesting kind. The car’s already outside your apartment, see you in a few!” And with that the man was gone.

“Shit…” Why could he never be ready on time? “Shitshitshitshit!” Gargling some mouthwash and spitting it into the kitchen sink, Cullen hastily ran his hands through his hair and cursed his forgetfulness when he realised he hadn’t shaved for a few days. Hopefully the stubble looked more like reckless abandon than plain forgetfulness. Nothing he could do about it now anyway, and he grabbed his coat, locked his office door and ran down the stairs to the waiting car.

“Sorry, only just got the call,” he said as he jumped inside, coat only on one arm.

“Quite alright, detective,” came the reply.

Cullen’s insides froze and his eyes darted to where Ariana sat beside him, looking at him with interested and amused eyes. As always, she looked wonderful in a high-necked black dress that just reached her knees and showed off her lithe form, and he sat there looking like a fucking mess. This day was just getting better and better.

“Yeah, I… I was asleep,” he confessed. _Don’t turn red, don’t you dare turn red._ He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and praised the driver for quickly pulling out into the stream of traffic on its way out of the city. “So, uh… Dorian said in rather… colourful terms that you guys had a breakthrough?”

Ariana nodded. “Mm yes, Dorian _would_ wouldn’t he?” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Yeah, it’s a pretty interesting one. Something about traces of magic at Adamant, I don’t know. To be honest, whenever Dorian starts going on about magic I tend to just stop listening. Force of habit.” She brushed a few pieces of lint off her grey tights and made a slight face when they simply settled on her black boots. “But for what it’s worth, before I tuned him out he seemed really excited about it, so it’s gotta be big.”

Cullen nodded and turned to look out of the window at the morning crowds trudging down the streets. Traces of magic, huh? Interesting indeed… “Who managed to find it? I thought only TEMPLARs could sense old magic traces. You guys got one hanging around that I don’t know about? Should I be jealous?”

“Never fear, detective, you know you’re the only TEMPLAR for us.” Ariana grinned at him, and he found himself smiling back without realising, locking eyes with her for a moment. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, the grin dropped from her face and she gave an awkward cough and turned away. “No, it was Cassandra. She’s a Seeker.”

“A seeker?” Cullen’s eyebrows twitched. “Impressive.”

The two of them lapsed into silence, and Cullen turned to look out of the window. It was strange how much had changed since the last time he sat in a car on the way to Weisshaupt. He’d been suspicious, wary, guarded, pretty much every word pertaining to the fact he’d been scared almost shitless, but now? Now he felt at ease. Not completely, he wasn’t stupid, as much as he enjoyed Ariana’s company he was still very aware that she was a gang member and probably able to kill him with a cufflink without breaking a sweat, but he definitely felt safer. Useful, somehow. Protected.

“So… How’s living at Weisshaupt going?” Cullen asked after a few more minutes of silence passed.

Ariana shrugged, casting her eyes towards the partition instead of him. “It’s debateable. There’s a few of us that still think moving operations there was a bad idea.”

“Are you one of them?”

“I said a few of us, detective,” she said, glancing at him with a slight smile lifting one corner of her mouth, warping her tattoos. “I didn’t include or exclude myself, I’m just choosing to reserve judgement.”

“How long have you lived at Haven?”

“A few years now.”

“Did you like it there?”

“It was alright.”

“Did you move there after leaving your clan?”

Ariana fixed him with a steely, cold regard, and Cullen wished he could have pulled those words out of the air before she heard them. _Idiot_.

“Do not try and _figure me out,_ detective, you won’t be able to.” She held his gaze for a moment longer, just long enough to really freeze his guts and make him regret every decision he’d ever made, before looking away out of the window again. “And I doubt you would like the outcome,” she added in a quieter tone, her eyes cold, full of an emotion so dark and harsh it was almost terrifying to look at them.

***

“Detective, how nice of you to rejoin the land of the living,” Dorian said as Cullen exited the lift into the belly of Weisshaupt, the furnaces spitting out sparks and cinders over the slightly damp floor.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he replied, not really meaning it, and he could tell Dorian knew that by the way he grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, leading him towards the spiral stairs. Ariana trailed behind, melting into the background and silently watching the two men in front of her.

“No matter, my friend. Now, apparently everyone is waiting for us in the conference room and as much as I enjoy making a fashionably late entrance, we’re cutting it a little fine right now. So come on, chop chop detective!”

Dorian was right, everyone was waiting for them. And looking a little bit annoyed at their lateness, but those expressions quickly faded as Alistair called everyone to their seats. On the cabinet behind his seat at the head of the table an old but lovingly polished radio crackled out a gentle saxophone song, the lilting and relaxed tune of the instrument interspersed with tinkling piano notes and a soft, slow beat. It gave an atmosphere of a friendly meeting, not a conference about attacks and missing wives and strange magic. It helped that sunlight was filtering weakly through the blinds and catching the dust motes in the air in a golden haze. A pot of coffee sat in the middle of the table, and Alistair motioned for Cullen to pour himself a cup as the other man took a seat on the far end of the table, between Leliana and a dark-skinned woman with a pile of papers in front of her that he didn’t recognise, but assumed that she was with the Righteous.

“You look like you need it, pal,” Alistair said with a laugh as Cullen gratefully grabbed a mug and took a long gulp of the coffee, scalding his throat.

“No kidding…” he rasped, clearing his throat and giving him a tired grin.

“I assume the doctor’s orders were followed?” Alistair looked at Wynne sitting at his right hand, and she raised her eyebrows, directing his gaze back to Cullen who nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, thanks doc. I feel a lot better.”

Wynne smiled. “I am glad, detective.”

“Right, now that’s out of the way, Oryn, you said you’ve found something?” Alistair clapped his hands and leaned forwards, staring at the woman on the right side of the table with expectant eyes.

She nodded. “Yes, actually I had some help… Our mutual friend sends her regards, by the way,” she said with a sideways grin, eyes catching the light and sparkling wickedly.

“Yeah I’ll just bet…”

Oryn cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter, getting straight down to business. “Anyway, she was helping us search the Adamant site and the apartments of our victims. We found something a little… interesting to say the least. Josephine, if you would?”

The woman next to Cullen jumped as her name was called, and stood, gathering the papers hastily and walking around the table, passing them out as she did. “Yes, thank you Herald. These are photos that we have taken with something the Carta have passed onto us called a Lyrium Lens. It’s able to pick up magic traces still lingering in the air on camera, and from looking at the patterns we’re able to tell what kind of magic was used and how recently it was cast.” Her explanation had carried her over to the other side of the table and she stood opposite Alistair with her hands clasped behind her back, her expensive looking skirt and jacket not rumpled in the slightest, her black hair sleep and without a strand out of place. Impressive lady, Cullen thought to himself. Wonder how she ended up here.

“We know how recently this magic was cast, of course,” she continued, her Antivan accent moulding around the words delicately. “But what’s interesting is that this does not appear to be conventional magic, at least, not by our judgement.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair said, eyes flicking up from the photos in front of him to peer at her shrewdly.

“Well, from what Dorian and Iron Bull have told me, this is not any form of magic commonly used by mages in Denerim, or Thedas apparently. It’s exceptionally rare and practiced only by a few.”

Alistair gave her an expectant look, shaking his head slightly. “Well? What are we talking? Necromancy? Blood magic?”

Josephine wasn’t flustered by his tone in the slightest. “A combination of both blood magic and fade magic, it appears.”

“Damn!” Alistair slammed the photos on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing raggedly. “Bloody blood mages are again. Do you think this is linked to the Magisters in any way? Some kind of retribution for their murdered leader?” He turned to the rest of the people surrounding him desperately.

Cullen shook his head. “If the Magisters were back, I think we would have known about it sooner. As far as I remember, they weren’t exactly subtle.”

Cassandra nodded from her place beside Oryn. “The Righteous would have known if they were back. Our informers would have told us something.”

“Besides,” Dorian cut in, shrugging. “Tevinter casting doesn’t match the type the Lyrium Lens picked up.”

“I guess if anyone would know about that, it’s you…” Alistair grumbled, biting his lip and twisting his fingers together on the tabletop.

“Why, because I’m a mage or because I’m from Tevinter? Actually, don’t tell me. I enjoy being surprised.”

“Ok, so it’s not the Magisters. But it’s someone powerful enough to combine two different schools of magic,” Oryn said, thinking aloud as Josephine took her place beside Cullen again. The song on the radio stopped and changed to a more upbeat tune, quietly punctuating the discussion with lively saxophones and trumpets in the background.

“Indeed, and in my knowledge that is a very difficult task,” Leliana said, Dorian and Wynne nodding in agreement.

“Is there any way we can get an expert on this Fade magic?” Alistair asked, brow furrowed in thought. “If it’s as rare as you say, surely getting someone who knows how it works and therefore how to defend against it should be our first order of business.”

Oryn nodded. “Yes, I was thinking the same. And that’s where Morrigan comes in. She says she knows of an elf at Denerim University who is an expert on Fade magic. She doesn’t know him personally, however,” she paused and winced slightly, “she said he would _probably_ be willing to help.”

“An elf?” Zevran frowned from where he sat on Alistair’s immediate left. “What is his allegiance?”

“None, from what Morrigan tells me. Not Dalish, not a city elf, nothing. Just… an elf.”

“Odd…” Zevran mused.

“Not that odd if you knew him,” Ariana spoke up suddenly, her words dark and her eyes worn.

Everyone turned to stare at her, and she looked up, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open as she realised what she’d just said.

“You know him?” Oryn said indignantly. “You could have said something!”

“I didn’t know we’d need his help!” Ariana said quickly, biting her lip. “I don’t know him very well I just… I used to. It was years ago, anyway, I doubt he’d remember me.”

Oryn sighed, shaking her head. “Well… because this gives us a way in with him, I’ll let this slide. But next time, tell me if you know the person we were spending all night trying to track down.”

“I will. Sorry.”

“Ok… so, we have a plan?” Alistair said, breaking the awkward tension that had fallen over the table. “Ariana will go to secure our expert, and then we can use his help to track down who could have attacked us. If the magic is as rare as you say it shouldn’t be that hard.”

Oryn nodded. “She shouldn’t go alone.”

“Good idea. Cullen, you go with her. Take care of her, watch her back.”

“What!” Cullen and Ariana yelped at the same time. She sounded more angry at the thought of having a nanny, Cullen was more shocked than anything else.

 “I don’t-I don’t know anything about magic!” Cullen continued, shaking his head quickly. _Or elves, for that matter._ “I don’t think I’d be that useful, really!”

Alistair shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You’re going, both of you need to secure this guy. This is of upmost importance and I trust you both to get the job done, are we clear?” His tone left no room for arguments, and Oryn’s firm expression showed that she wasn’t going to budge either.

It wasn’t unlike being sent on an errand by your parents, Cullen thought as Ariana let out a long sigh bordering on annoyed groan.

“Fine,” he agreed eventually, rubbing the back of his head.

“Good.” Alistair looked triumphantly over to his counterpart beside him. “Now, Oryn, what did you say this guy’s name was?”

“Solas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any mistakes, I didn't proofread this chapter before posting it whoops. Anyway, yay, it's Solas time! Finally.... Anyway, as always if you enjoyed this then feel free to leave a kudos or even *gasp* a comment!


	9. Egg Harbour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not even here yet and I'm already making egg jokes. Ah well, you brought it on yourself, you weird egg elf.

The University was one of the most imposing buildings Cullen had ever seen, and despite being sent there for TEMPLAR duty every once in a while it still managed to stump him completely.  It was all soaring, intricately carved light beige facades, magnificent marble statues of scholars and politicians and the great Thinkers of Ferelden, and storeys upon storeys of high, white paned Orlesian windows. It was just so _large_ , in a way that made him wonder why anything should be that big. Could the students even use it? Did they fill every corner with their studying and their testing and their everyday life? Had anyone actually seen every single part of the University complex, or did it intimidate them as much as it did him?

“Detective, we’re going to be late for our appointment,” Ariana said sharply, breaking through his thoughts.

Cullen shook himself out of his slack-jawed gaping and nodded. “Yes, of course. Lead the way,” he replied hastily, following her through the large cherry-red and gold marble archway into the cool atrium that lay inside the main University building. Just beyond it he could see a small courtyard with neat squares of grass divided into quarters by cobblestone pathways, a modest but nonetheless lovely fountain in the centre and several dark bronze statues at each corner. Despite being at the heart of the Ferelden capital, the University had a distinctly Orlesian feel and dated from when the city was brought into glory by the Orlesian occupation. After the occupation ended and the throne was once again occupied by a Ferelden-born king, the University had survived being burned or sacked with the rest of the grand buildings built by the Orlesians on the basis of it being a harbour for “human improvement and enlightenment”. Fancy way of saying “we don’t want those cheese-loving fuckers to think that we’re stupid because we burned down the one high-education place in the entire city”.

Ariana was standing by the large, black marble topped desk to his right and Cullen watched her as she spoke to the clerk behind it, probably asking where they were supposed to go to meet this elf scholar. She seemed familiar, at ease with herself in this strange, cavernous and echoey hall, and Cullen wondered how many times she’d been here. Did she used to attend the University? Is that how she met Solas? The thought of her knowing this stranger bothered him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He disliked feeling like an outsider, and if she knew this guy then he’d be one once again, just as he was starting to feel like he could fit in with the gangs.

Sighing, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and watched the sunlight dance and sparkle like shards of crystal in the fountain, the soft footsteps and murmurs of the students as they passed him lulling him into reverie. Judging from the looks he was shot, the students weren’t used to seeing a detective in their sanctuary. He fought the urge to tug the brim of his hat further down over his eyes to avoid their sharp glances.

“Detective?”

Ariana’s voice carried over to him and he jumped, eyes darting up to meet hers.

“Solas is in the library in the Researcher’s Alcove, we’ve been given a pass to enter for today. It’s not far, come on.” And with that she was off again, leading him across the courtyard to the other side of the building.

Was she annoyed at him for pressing her for information about her past? Cullen frowned as he watched her back, the mid-afternoon sunlight making her hair look like spun gold. If she was mad at him, then he’d have to apologise. He just felt like he was getting somewhere with her, but she seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length. And as much as that disappointed him (and it really _really_ did), he’d respect that, but he still felt like he should apologise.

Darkness enveloped them again as they entered the mahogany lined corridor, large stairs leading up to the next floor either side of them. The ceiling was lower here, it felt more manageable somehow as Cullen looked around before hurrying after Ariana who was already climbing the stairs on the right. Bookshelves lined the walls even here, elaborate wooden grates covering the tomes inside, protecting them from the sunlight that filtered weakly through the shaded windows.

Everything seemed muffled as they climbed, the walls opening out beside them as they reached the next floor and revealing a massive section of the library, long tables and impossibly high bookshelves stretching out in every direction beyond the staircase, Cullen quickly losing sight of it as they climbed even further. Small, glass fronted hollow columns were set beside the staircase, and as Cullen watched a book was lowered down the square shaft on a little platform to a student waiting below. As he reached into the device to get his book, their eyes met briefly before the student scurried away. What a strange place… It was as if it was completely untouched by the outside world.

They finally reached the top floor, emerging onto a platform suspended near the top of the massive library and leading across it to a set of smaller rooms the other side of the hall. Vertigo threatened to make Cullen stumble as they crossed the walkway, high above the silent activity of the library far below, but he set his shoulders and resolved to not look down as they walked. Ariana seemed not to care, but he would expect that from an elf. She was probably used to scaling trees and if her stunt when she’d literally fallen into his life was any indication, she wasn’t bothered by heights.

“The Alcove is just through here,” Ariana explained quietly as they reached a set of small glass-fronted doors. Cullen could see glimpses of what looked like a reading room behind them. “There shouldn’t be anyone else in there at the moment.”

Pushing a key into the lock, Ariana opened the doors slowly and slipped inside, Cullen following closely behind her. As soon as the doors clicked shut, what little noise from the library below was cut off and they were blanketed by a soft silence pressing in from all sides.

Ariana’s feet made no noise as she slowly walked through the Alcove, her footsteps landing on soft rugs woven with marvellous gold and white patterns too intricate to untangle. She looked down each shelf they passed, frowning when she couldn’t find their target.

“Solas?” she whispered finally, giving in and stopping at the centre of the room beside a small table and two armchairs. Books were piled on the table and the floor around it, a half-drunk cup of cooling tea sitting beside them. She wrinkled her nose at the cup and picked up one of the books, flicking through it as Cullen’s eyes searched the room from where he stood behind her.

“I did not think you were interested in matters of Ancient Elvhen history, da’assan,” said a low, sooting voice from just beside her.

Ariana jumped, the book slipping from her fingertips and toppling to the floor only to be caught by another hand before it could land. She whirled around, Cullen starting to move towards her to be stopped by a quick wave of her hand.

“I’m not, five years hasn’t changed me that much, Solas,” she replied easily, only a slight waver in her voice from the shock of being snuck up on.

The tall, pale elf next to her smiled as he moved around her to place the book safely back on the table, fingertips brushing protectively over its tattered and fraying cover. Despite his languid and relaxed movements, his eyes were sharp, calculating as they darted over the two people who had disturbed him. After he seemed satisfied that they weren’t a threat, he turned his eyes back to Ariana and smiled at her.

“I would beg to differ,” he said, crossing his arms over his thin chest, eyes darting up and down her quickly as if from instinct. “When I saw you last you were barely more than a child, and now you are most definitely not, however young you still are.”

“Only a child to you, old man,” Ariana retorted, but there was a grin creeping at the corners of her mouth and a light blush dusting her cheeks, visible despite how much she was trying to hide them.

Cullen decided he didn’t much like Solas.

 Solas returned the smile, his eyes tired and dark. “I assume there is a reason why you are visiting me here?” He sat down in the chair and motioned for Ariana to do the same. “Other than to just enjoy a chat with an old friend.”

Ariana’s eyes flicked over him quickly and she sat down a little stiffly on the edge of the seat as if she wasn’t quite comfortable around Solas to actually relax. Cullen wondered how much of “friends” they actually were. Dorian’s interactions with Ariana were far more akin to friendship than this tense, quiet meeting.

“Yeah, I have someone I could use your specific level of expertise on,” she said, clearing her throat and brushing a hand over her hair.

“Oh? Something to do with… magic?” Solas leaned forwards, staring at her with darting, piercing eyes. “It must be that, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought a TEMPLAR with you.”

Cullen’s mouth dropped open slightly and he clenched his fists at his sides, but Ariana stopped him from saying anything with a quick calming gesture.

“Cullen is on our side, Solas.”

Solas laughed bitterly. “As if humans were ever on _our side_ ,” he shot back. “Come on, Ariana, you of all people should know that’s not true. Or…” He tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes at her, a small smile lifting the edge of his mouth, the expression cold and harsh, a haunting juxtaposition to the warmth of the little room. “Does he not know?”

Ariana’s eyes hardened, her gloved hands clenching in her lap, the leather creaking loudly in protest. The air around them froze as she stared at Solas, her anger rolling off her in waves despite her not moving a muscle. In that single moment, just from a few simple words, she’d changed from being a calm, collected and fairly normal person to someone who could believably snap a man’s neck with her fingers. Cullen swallowed nervously.

“Give us a minute.”

He jumped at the sound of Ariana’s voice hissing through her teeth at him. Her tone was low, oddly still, but dangerous like a crouched wildcat ready to strike from the shadows at anything that moved. He nodded quickly and moved towards the door, shooting a quick glance behind him before he shut it silently, leaning against the wall next to it and breathing heavily. What the _hell_ had just happened? One second she seemed happy to see Solas, as if she liked him, but now? Shit…

Cullen sneaked a glance into the study room through the glass door. His eyes widened at what he saw, barely able to believe she had moved so fast without a noise. He’d been turned away for a few seconds, but in that time Ariana had moved from where she saw opposite Solas to standing above him, a short knife held to his throat as she stared down at him with blazing eyes. There was more emotion in her face than he’d ever seen, and it all burned, scorching the air between where her eyes were fixed on Solas’, and his on hers. He didn’t seem perturbed by the dagger at his throat, merely gazed up at her with cool indifference as her mouth opened and she began speaking in a soft tone.

Cullen knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop. It wasn’t his business. But then again, none of this was _his business_. Not really. He could talk the talk, act like he fitted in with the rest of them, and he’d almost tricked himself into thinking that he did, that he could. But Ariana’s sudden shift in character showed him that he had severely underestimated her and illustrated how out of his depth he really was. He was standing with his head underwater, convincing himself that he could breathe.

Leaning closer to the door, Cullen pressed himself against the sidewall, keeping out of sight of the elves inside. He strained to hear what was being murmured within, focusing all of his attention on catching the hushed whispers that floated through the air towards him.

“-think that saying that would get you on my good side?” That was Ariana. Shit, she sounded mad.

A low chuckle from Solas. “And you think that holding a dagger to my throat will get you on mine?”

“I don’t give a shit about being on your good side. You made sure that you would never be on mine again, so why should I care?”

“I never meant to hurt-“ Solas’ words were cut off with a sharp gasp.

Fuck, had she killed him? A quick glance inside told him no, but Ariana was pressing the knife against his skin a little harder.

“Save it. I was different then, I don’t care about the past. Whatever happened between us happened to someone else. This isn’t about that, this is about you never speaking to me about that again.” A short pause. “Especially not in front of him.”

“Why do you care? He is a human, their lives are short and often useless. Whatever he thinks about you will end before you know it.”

“We don’t have the lifespan of the Ancient Ones, idiot. Not anymore. I’m just as short-lived as him.” There was a short, harsh laugh. “Probably even more.”

“With your line of work, perhaps. But your life has lengthened considerably since your services…. changed hands.” There was another quick yelp of pain.

“What did I say? I literally just said it, right? I didn’t stutter. Did I fucking stutter?”

Solas laughed again. “At least your colourful language hasn’t changed.” There was a short, tense silence. Then a sigh. “I will not speak of it again. I promise. And I am sorry for offending you.”

Ariana lifted the knife from his throat and it flashed out of sight, a blur and it vanished in a clever sleight of hand. “Thank you.” The anger lifted from her face and she went to sit down opposite him again.

“In all these years… You have changed so much, da’assan. But you still know how to command my attention.” Solas’ words were soft, gentle, spoken in the same way one whispers to a lover in the middle of the night, when no-one else was listening.

Except someone was listening, and that someone was standing the other side of the door with a massive pit in his stomach. He turned away, leaning his head back against the wall and heaving out a long sigh. This was all too damn complicated for him… Why did he let himself get mixed up in all of this?

“Detective?”

Ariana’s voice broke through his thoughts and his eyes snapped open, making him scramble upright. “Yes?”

She gave him a curious glance from where she stood, door propped open by her hand. “You can come back in now. Solas has agreed to help us.”

“Good!” Cullen said a little too quickly, a little too loudly. Ariana’s confused look grew. “That’s… That’s good.” He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and followed her back inside. Wonderful, now he had the honour of dealing with two cryptic and mysterious elves. Zevran might be a little hard to deal with sometimes, but at least he didn’t seem to follow that particular trend. Cullen fought the urge to sigh as he was led back to the table and listened to Ariana explaining what was happening to Solas who stared at her in rapt attention.

Yep. Just _wonderful_.

***

“So… Let me just check I have all of this,” Solas said. They had been talking for hours, night shrouding the city beyond the windows and making the lights of the University blink like stars. A fire had been lit in the grate by an elven servant an hour ago, the room becoming almost unbearably warm and making it harder for Cullen to stay awake.

“The Warden-Commander is missing, two attacks have been made on seemingly protected people, you were attacked by TEMPLARs wielding strange red shards which match the evidence found at both of the crime scenes, and the only other clue you have is this blood-magic/fade magic combination?” Solas continued, eyes flicking between Ariana and Cullen incredulously. “I hope you realise how impossible that is.”

“Nothing is impossible, Solas. Not in Denerim,” Ariana replied darkly.

Solas sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, leaning back in his chair. “Mixing different schools of magic is rare, indeed, but those two… The only way to perform magic pulled directly from the Fade is called Rift Magic. It’s highly dangerous and takes an enormous amount of skill and control.”

“I’m missing something…” Cullen ventured, confusion lacing his tone. “Why would using both blood magic and rift magic be so impossible? I mean, they’re both magic, right? They both come from the same place.”

“Using rift magic alongside blood magic is impossible because blood magic makes it extremely hard for the user to access the Fade. Unless the person is some sort of spirit or demon then that level of power is, as I keep saying, impossible.”

“What about-“

“Possession? It would tear the person apart, unless they have a very powerful anchor to the Fade, but such things haven’t been seen since the Ancient Times in Arlathan. They do not exist any longer.” Solas looked almost saddened by this, but the moment passed as quickly as it had arrived.

Cullen pressed his lips together. “So this is a dead end?”

Ariana shook her head, frowning. “No. It doesn’t stink enough to be dead. Come on, Solas, you have to have something for us. We know this magic is real, we have the proof!” She pointed at the lyrium images on the table desperately.

Solas’ brow knitted together, deep lines furrowing his forehead. “I know what the images say, and they cannot be disputed. But… I cannot think of anyone with that level of power. I am sorry.”

“What about a Witch of the Wilds?” Cullen said suddenly, staring at the images.

“A Witch of the Wilds?” Solas made a face and leaned forwards, studying the photos himself as if the answer would suddenly jump out at him. “I suppose it is possible… But only an extremely old one would possess the Ancient Knowledge required to control such power. And unless you have one in your custody, I highly doubt-“

“We have one. Come on,” Cullen jumped to his feet, tugging his coat off the back of Ariana’s chair and stuffing his arms into it quickly.

“Wait!” Solas held up a hand, stopping both of them in their tracks before they could rush out. “There was something I needed to share with you. This Witch hunt of yours may lead nowhere, and this is pertinent.”

“Out with it, Solas,” Ariana prompted impatiently.

He stood, walking over to one of the bookshelves on the far side of the room and reaching over the books on the lower shelf to grab a box hidden behind them. “A few months ago, someone got into the part of the library where we store the oldest books. Only a few of us have access to it but… They managed to get in. They set fire to it, we almost…” Solas broke off, his voice breaking momentarily before he composed himself, placing the box carefully on the table and stepping back. “We almost lost everything. Our most ancient knowledge was stored in those books… All those stories, memories…” he trailed off before clearing his throat and looking at both of them with tired eyes. “We managed to save a few of them, but the rest were damaged beyond repair. Among them were these.”

He lifted the lid of the box, revealing blackened pages that were scorched almost to ash. They were unimpressive, barely recognisable as books any longer, it was what lay on top of them that made Cullen’s breath stop in his chest as he stared at the object.

“These books once held the history of the Tevinter Imperium and the ancient Magisters who ventured into the Fade physically. They were never seen again, and the tale died with them, but for some reason someone wanted that history gone. I did not see the connection until you mentioned the red lyrium.”

Solas reached carefully into the box and brought out the object resting atop the ruined pages. The smooth stone gleamed dully in his palm, its intoxicating song muffled by the large crack that ran across its surface, deadening its tune. “This was all that was left. I don’t believe those shards you found at the crime scenes were accidental, detective, I think someone is trying to send you a message. A warning.”

“What warning?” Cullen’s voice was hoarse, his mouth dry and heart pounding painfully against his ribs as he stared at the elf in front of him, his fear mirrored in the other man’s eyes.

“That they are powerful. That they can do anything, like create lyrium more dangerous than anything we’ve ever encountered, and that they can wield magic that should be impossible. That they can strike us from within without us even realising and take someone who is more powerful than anyone without leaving a single survivor. That they’re coming for all of us,” Solas whispered, fingers tightening around the stone, bones gleaming white through his skin.

“What can we do?” Cullen breathed.

Solas didn’t reply for a few moments that weighed heavy on Cullen’s mind. He stared down at the stone in his hand, the ash from the books peppering his skin, before he turned his eyes to the human before him again, the shock and sudden horror at his realisation flooding from them and making Cullen take in a sharp breath.

“We can die, detective.”

 

***

The noise was deafening. Screeching, tearing, mangling noises of metal being wrenched apart piece by piece and thrown on the cold stone floor. Heat pervaded the air, thrown up by the massive pits of fire and steam from where damp tools were dipped into the flames, sparks breaking up the absolute darkness in showers of terrifyingly bright light, dancing across the floor before fading into the inky blackness of the cavern again.

“You believe that they will fight.”

The whispered words were not a question, the statement barely audible above the cacophony of unbearable sound around the two figures. One towered over the other, sinking into the blackness to become completely invisible.

“I believe that they will try,” came the answer.

“They will fall?”

“It is in their nature to.”

The two figures lapsed into silence, both their eyes watching the scene before them.

“You fear what will happen?” asked the second voice.

The first speaker didn’t reply, merely stared at the sparks skittering across the floor towards her, the shadows of her face jumping and dancing in the firelight.

“I fear few things. This is not one of them,” she replied simply. “One whose soul is as black as mine cannot fear the darkness, for it lives within us and comforts us with its familiarity. I do not fear death, I have died already, I fear living.”

The other figure laughed harshly, a horrific sound that seemed to reach into the very depths of the darkness in which they stood and pull the very heart out of it. “Wise words. You wear the dark as if it were yours, but you are more righteous than any of us. You bring ruin to cities but stand as if you are its saviour, its glorious Knight with a gold halo resting on your temple. As if you haven’t sold your soul to the darkness.”

The woman turned, the blood that dripped down her bone-white face turning pitch black and making her eyes seem to glow against the shadows. “When will we strike?” she asked.

There was a short pause. Then the towering figure stepped forwards into the light of the flames, lifting their arms to the heavens, their voice echoing loudly across the cavern and easily rising above the cacophony below them.

“Tonight. Tonight we will burn the heart out of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed this! That is all I have to say for this chapter ;)


	10. Threnodies 5:7

_Those who oppose thee_

_Shall know the wrath of heaven_

_Field and forest shall burn,_

_The seas shall rise and devour them,_

_The wind shall tear their nations_

_From the face of the earth,_

_Lightning shall rain down from the sky,_

_They shall cry out to their false gods_

_And find silence_

\- Andraste 7:19

 

“We have to go, now,” Ariana said, tugging her coat on in one fluid motion and turning on her heel, the long black fabric of her coat snapping around her legs and cutting through the heavy silence that had fallen after Solas’ words. “Detective, come on.”

Cullen nodded and the two of them began moving to the door, but a sharp word from Solas made them both stop in their tracks and turn in perfect unison, both their faces mapped in twin expressions of deep worry and thinly masked fear.

“Stop!” Solas scrambled to replace the lyrium stone back into the box of ashes and tucking it safely under his arm as he hurried over to join them. “You cannot possibly think that you can face these creatures alone, based on what I have told you?”

Ariana cut a glare at him through narrowed eyes. “Who says we’re going to be facing them alone? We need to get this information to Oryn as soon as possible, before they attack again,” she continued to Cullen, turning away from Solas to face him, her eyes quietly imploring him to side with her.

Cullen nodded again. “Thank you for your help,” he said to Solas, holding out his hand and grasping the elf’s firmly, shaking it once. “But we have to go.”

“Come with us,” Ariana blurted out, stepping towards Solas with a strange expression in her eyes. “If they know that you helped us you’ll be a target. We can keep you safe.”

The two elves stared at each other for a moment, Solas’ eyes confused and conflicted against Ariana’s wide and grave ones. He looked over his shoulder at the books surrounding him as if he could find some sort of safety in them, his shoulders slumping slightly and head bowing as he found none. Turning back to Ariana, he nodded once, and that was all she needed.

“Lead the way,” he said hoarsely, and followed them as they walked out of the door, the finality of the click it made as it closed making him swallow and close his eyes briefly against the noise.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Ariana muttered to Cullen as they trotted down the stairs, her hand running smoothly down the velvety bannister.

“I know what you mean,” he replied darkly, eyes darting around the stairwell, oil lamps set into the walls giving it an eerie flickering glow. “It feels like… something is watching us. Waiting for a chance to strike.”

“Yeah. I hate that,” she shot back, tone equally grim. “The best we can do right now is get Solas back to Haven, that way he and Dorian can start working on a solution to our “impossible magic that can destroy us in a second” problem.”

Cullen swallowed and tried to focus on placing one foot after the other on the stairs. Right, left, right, left, don’t think about magic, don’t think about magic, right, left, right, left, don’t think about lyrium, don’t think about lyrium, right, left, right, left, you can do this, this won’t be another Kirkwall, it _can’t_ be, you won’t let it, right, left, right, left. Sweat beaded on his brow and his throat began to burn as if something was trying to force its way out of his lungs and rush into the air around him. A scream? _Or just a sigh… shit, how do you breathe again? Lungs burning… oh Maker, can’t breathe, can’t-_ His feet tangled in his legs and he was falling, ground rushing up to catch him-

“Detective!”

Hands reached out and grabbed him before he could tumble to the floor. Air rushed into his lungs, shocking him out of his blind panic and harshly reminding him how to take a breath again.

“Th-thanks,” he stammered to Ariana, running a hand over his brow and shaking his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.

“Are you alright?” she asked, still holding his arm. She ducked her head, trying to catch his downturned gaze. “Keep it together, Cullen,” she said gently, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He nodded shakily. “Yeah, sorry, just…” _She called you Cullen._ “Remembering things. Rough day.”

She laughed slightly and dropped her hand from his arm, fingers lingering on his sleeve a second too long. “You don’t have to tell me.”

 They began moving down the stairs again, all of them sticking unconsciously closer to one another as they stepped out into the darkened atrium, their footsteps echoing dully against the shadows. Nothing more was said as they cut across the grass squares of the garden, the fountain now quiet and the silence it had left pressing uncomfortably against Cullen’s skin, making it prickle unpleasantly. Something sure as hell wasn’t right.

“Ok, we just gotta get this stuff back to Oryn and Cass, they’ll know what to do with it,” Ariana breathed as they strode through the lobby, its grandeur turned from impressive to daunting in the night air. “As soon as we do that, we can-“

“Ari!” A sharp voice cut through the silence and made them all jump, breaking off Ariana’s words. A person was running towards them up the steps into the University, limping slightly.

Ariana’s eyes narrowed and a knife flicked into her hand in the blink of an eye, her knuckles turning white as she grasped it tightly, ready to strike as the person drew closer, the heavy sound of their breathing drifting through the air towards them. As the figure passed into a patch of dim light, she let out a breath, shoulders relaxing and the knife disappearing as quickly as it had come.

“Dorian!” she yelled, rushing towards him as he stumbled and almost fell, catching him in her arms. “What are you doing here?”

The mage struggled to catch his breath and leaned against her heavily, hands pressed against her arms as he tried to heave himself upright. “You have…. You have to get to Haven…” he gasped, blinking hard as if his vision was clouded. Something dark was running down from his brow into his left eye. Was that…?

“Dorian, you’re bleeding!”

“Really?” Even in his weakened state, Dorian could manage to be sarcastic. “I hadn’t noticed! Curious, that!”

Ariana slung his arm over her shoulder and heaved him up to stand up straight. “What happened?” The other two rushed over to help her, finally breaking free of their shock. Solas’ hands began to glow green as he raised them to Dorian’s forehead, healing the deep cut that slashed across his skin.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed at the stranger healing him but he didn’t say anything about it. “Weisshaupt was attacked, it’s…. it’s gone.” His voice was hoarse, cracked.

“Gone?” Cullen asked, barely able to believe that fortress could be destroyed so quickly. They’d only been gone a few hours. “What happened?”

Dorian swallowed, gathering his strength. “It happened before any of us knew what was happening. Oryn, Cass, Bull, Josie, all the others had left to go back to Haven to gather supplies. I stayed because I’m a fucking idiot, apparently.” He barked out a harsh laugh, wincing as the sound turned into a cough.

“Try and relax,” Solas said soothingly. “You’re exhausted.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I ran practically all the way here with a head wound.” Dorian cut a look at Ariana. “Professional doctor, is he?”

“He’s a friend,” she replied, only pausing slightly before the last word.

Dorian shook his head and took a few more deep breaths before continuing. “Alistair, Wynne, Leliana, Zevran, all his inner circle and I managed to get out through a service tunnel from his office to the surface. As soon as we got out… The base, it just…. Shit, it just _collapsed_!” His words were strained, verging on hysterical as the full shock of what had happened hit him. “It collapsed in on itself like it was made of paper, there’s nothing left except a massive fucking hole in the ground and everyone who was still inside it is _dead_ , they dead and it’s-“

“Sssh, Dorian, it’s ok,” Ariana said, wrapping her arms around him and holding him closely as he sobbed into her shoulder. It was only then that Cullen saw the dust lacing his clothes, the deep tears in the fabric exposing bruised skin.

“I’ll… I’ll be alright,” Dorian said, nodding shakily and pulling away from her. “I got here as fast as I could. They’re probably at Haven already, we need to get back there.”

“Who were _they_ , Dori?” Ariana pressed him, using her fond nickname for him in a vain attempt to comfort him.

“I don’t know!” he insisted hysterically, voice pitched too high, too loudly.

“It’s alright,” Cullen quickly said. “We understand that you probably don’t want to think about that right now,” he continued, shooting a reprimanding look at Ariana whose own eyes darkened in response. “The best thing for us to do now is to get back to Haven as quickly as possible.”

“Good idea,” Solas said, backing him up before Ariana could try and ask Dorian more questions that he obviously didn’t want to answer. “I shall accompany you, I may be able to assist the Righteous and the Wardens in holding the refuge.”

“Wait, you know about the Righteous?” Cullen asked as he took Dorian’s other arm and helped him walk down the large stone steps, leading him away from the University and towards the lights of the city before them. “How the hell does a University professor know about them, when I don’t?”

Solas laughed slightly from beside him, fabric-bound feet stepping lightly and silently on the stone. “Do not judge solely on outward appearances, Detective,” he said simply.

Cullen scowled and focused on not tripping down the stairs as they neared the bottom. It seemed like the more he learned about the underbelly of Denerim, the less he felt like he actually knew. It was like trying to map the bottom of the ocean, you could think that you learned it all but then you’d come across another trench cutting deep into the abyss and you were starkly reminded how little you actually knew. Ridiculous, he thought to himself as Dorian managed to regain some of his former strength and leaned on him a little less. He was a detective, and a former TEMPLAR. They were supposed to be the guardians of the city, know everything, everyone. What a load of shit. He wondered suddenly what Knight-Commander Meredith would make of all of this, him joining gangs and tossing the Order aside the same way it had done the same to him. He could just see the disappointed and angry expression on her face, tired lines on her face running down to the hard, unforgiving line of her mouth, the hard coldness of her eyes staring at him from underneath the gold halo of her pointed helm. She would not be impressed at all. Thank the Maker she couldn’t see what he’d become now.

“Where’s the nearest entrance to Haven?” he asked to distract himself from thinking further about his disapproving Knight-Commander.

Ariana glanced around, pausing the group at the bottom of the steps. “There should be an old service tunnel that’ll lead us there on the next street over,” she replied, hoisting Dorian’s arm tighter over her shoulders. “Just a little further, ok Dori?” she murmured soothingly to him, a comforting smile lifting her lips but not touching her eyes in the slightest.

He huffed in response. “When are you going to stop calling me that?” he grumbled as she began leading him away again.

“As soon as you stop calling me Ari.” She glanced over her shoulder at Cullen and their eyes met, the concern and fear filling her expression locking onto his for a moment. He understood completely, they needed to get back as soon as possible. He just hoped that by the time they got there Haven wouldn’t already be a collapsed pile of rubble as Weisshaupt was. It was a thin wisp of hope, but he clung onto it with all his might. It was all he could do.

***

Haven was dark, flashing red from the strip lighting on the walls, distant sirens blaring into his ears as soon as Cullen stepped off the ladder leading down into the bunker. People rushed past him down the corridor without a second glance, clutching bows, swords, shields, staffs, crossbows, sticks, even a wicked-looking wrench, anything that they could use as a weapon it seemed. Cullen darted away from the ladder and pressed himself against the wall as Dorian climbed down, faltering only a little. He seemed to have recovered almost completely, Solas was a good healer it seemed. The two men shared a shocked glance before Ariana and Solas slid down after them, the expression immediately mirrored in their faces as they took in the chaos around them.

“We need to find Oryn and Cassandra!” Ariana yelled over the sirens and shouts around them, and Cullen nodded, following closely behind her as she darted through the crowd, squeezing through gaps and dodging swinging staffs and bows being handed around. Cullen almost lost her a few times in the crowd, his mind aflame with adrenaline, all his senses overwhelmed by the chaos around them. Dorian and Solas were sticking close behind him, the amount of magic in the air making his awareness almost painfully heightened, as if someone was sticking pins all over him, dragging them across his skin whenever he moved.

Ariana led them further down into the lower corridors of Haven, the crowds thinning to a few groups here and there of older people or children, those who were unable to fight and were resigned to hiding and cowering in the corners and shadows of the base. Their wide, terrified eyes followed the strange group as they marched past, the flashing red lights lying heavily over their worn expressions and making their eyes glitter in the hollows of their faces. Cullen turned his attention to focus solely on Ariana’s back, unable to look the refugees in the eye. The gaunt cheeks, the hopeless eyes, the downturned mouths and tattered, travel stained clothing reminded him too much of the people in Kirkwall right after the Uprising. _No, don’t think of that, never think of that, stay focused, idiot!_

“Ariana, Cullen, you made it!” Oryn’s tone betrayed her open relief at seeing them as they entered the War Room. She jumped up from where she had been surveying a set of blueprints spread out over the war table and hurried over to them. “Dorian, why didn’t you come with the others? We were so worried about you, I almost sent out a search party!” In a few short strides she stood in front of the mage, clapping him on the shoulders and tugging him into a quick embrace. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said, pulling away and surveyed him darkly, worried eyes roving over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a worn voice. “But we’re here now, I take it you know what happened?”

She nodded, eyes flicking between the group, taking everything in in one sharp single, cursory glance. “Yes. Alistair, Wynne and the others got here earlier. We just raised the alarm by the time you arrived, we’re trying to evacuate but…” She trailed off and let out an angry, exasperated sigh, placing her hands on her hips and turning to walk back to the war table. “Most have refused to leave.”

Cullen eyes narrowed. “They want to fight?” he asked as he followed her, standing opposite her, face lit eerily by the cold white light suspended over the wide table. “Are they insane?”

“They’re desperate,” Oryn snapped back, her eyes shadowed by dark circles and her skin looking more wane than usual. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and the impeccable outfits of earlier were gone, replaced once again with her simple turtleneck and weapon holsters.

“They want to protect Haven,” Ariana said in a hollow voice, joining Cullen. “I understand.” She drew herself up to her full height and clasped her hands behind her back, eyes hard and cold. “Ok. So what’s our play here?”

Straight to business huh? No questioning of Oryn’s leadership in letting a bunch of untrained refugees go into battle in an attempt to protect Haven? Cullen was impressed by her loyalty, less so by her short-sightedness. Those people would die where they stood, before even taking down a single enemy. Was Oryn really willing to sacrifice innocents to protect her base?

Oryn’s eyes flicked to Cullen, as if she’d heard his thoughts, pale green eyes boring into his until he was forced to look away. “We make them leave,” she said finally, lifting her chin as if daring someone to disagree.

“What!?” Dorian rushed forwards, leaning over the war table to glare at his leader, eyes wide with anger. Well, if anyone was going to disagree, it was going to be him. “Are you insane? We’re going to let them take Haven too!?” he hissed at her, earning a sharp glare in return.

“I’m not going to _let_ them do anything, Dorian,” she spat back, leaning over the table as well to put her face at the same level as his. “I don’t intend to have my people die in a battle we can’t win, I won’t have this turn into Wiesshaupt. We have lost the high ground, as if we ever had it. If we make a stand here, we will die, no question about that.” Her voice was low, growling and dangerous, eyes burning into Dorian’s in a terrifying display of her true power over him. “We retreat. We save everyone we can and get the hell out of here before anyone gets killed, I will _not_ have that blood on my hands, do you understand me?”

They stared each other down for a few moments, eyes locked in an unspoken battle of wills. Dorian’s mouth was twitching, sweat beading on his brow, Oryn’s face resolutely stern and unforgiving. Finally Dorian let out a harsh sigh and thrust himself up again, folding his arms over his chest in defeat.

“Good. Glad that’s settled. Now come on, we don’t have much time.” Oryn ran a hand over the blueprints in front of her and glanced up at Cullen, Ariana and Solas. “We can lead the refugees out in the service tunnels, there’s a few safe houses left that we can put the most desperate in for a short time. Everyone else will have to make do. The most important thing is getting everyone as close to the surface as possible to turn the attention away from the lower levels.”

“Why, what’s on the lower levels?” Cullen asked.

“An old self-destruct protocol from this place’s military days. If they get their hands on that, this whole thing will be levelled in a matter of minutes, and the tunnels will collapse,” Oryn replied shortly. “If we have any hope of salvaging this situation, we need to get everyone up and away from that button as quickly as possible, before it’s used against us. Now, come on. I’ll give you your assignments as we walk, we don’t have much-“

“Boss!” A large man ran in. No… not large, _massive_. And not a man either, a Qunari judging by the massive horns jutting out from his head. He jogged over to them, huge chest heaving with exertion. “Boss, there’s movement on the surface. You better get upstairs quick, Cassandra and the others are waiting in the lobby.” He placed a large hand on Dorian’s shoulder and leaned over, breathing hard.

“Kaffas, Bull!” Dorian shoved the hand off his shoulder before he could buckle under the Qunari’s weight. “Did you run all the way down? There is a lift, you know.”

Bull shot him a grin. “It was busy. Funny, I would have thought you’d like to see me like this, all breathless and panting.”

“For the love of the Maker, both of you!” Oryn cut through their flirting with an annoyed growl. “Now is incredibly _not_ the time!”

“Right, sorry Boss. Right behind you,” Bull said, straightening up and bowing his head quickly, eyes moving quickly and suspiciously over Cullen and Solas.

“Relax, they’re with us,” Ariana said in a low voice as she moved past him, hand brushing over his silvery skin.

The huge Qunari seemed to visibly relax a fraction at her touch and calm words. His eyes still narrowed, he followed behind Oryn, hand placed protectively on Dorian’s back.

Strange, Cullen thought, how Ariana could quell his suspicions so quickly. They must be close, although he couldn’t imagine a stranger match, he thought as he looked between the huge, hulking Qunari and the willowy, lithe elf. He followed the group to the elevator, none of them talking as they ascended in the cramped box with nothing but their thoughts and the sounds of five pairs of lungs steadily breathing in and out to keep them company. Cullen swallowed, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. He glanced to the side to see Dorian clutching Bull’s hand tightly, knuckles gleaming white through his dusky skin. Oryn’s face was still, eyes narrowed and a tense line cutting across her forehead like a sword stroke. Solas seemed just as calm as ever, but the nervous twitching of the tips of his ears and the way he cradled the box in his arms gave his nervousness away.

Cullen dropped his eyes, tilting his head slightly to peer at Ariana behind him through his lashes. Her eyes were closed, her mouth tensed as she breathed in and out too steadily, too deeply. _Maker… she’s terrified,_ Cullen realised. Suddenly all he wanted to do was reach behind and take her hand like Bull, hold her close to his chest and protect her from the fear lacing the air around them. But all he could do was turn away before she could catch him staring and take in a deep breath, hands knotting together in front of him in a pale imitation of what he wanted.

“Herald!” Cassandra practically jumped on Oryn the second the elevator doors dinged open. “We need a plan of attack.”

 _Shit they didn’t even let her breathe…_ Cullen thought as Oryn nodded curtly and followed after Cassandra, the crowds outside the doors parting like an ocean in front of her, their voices oddly hushed and hands brushing her arms and shoulders as she walked through them. Like she was an idol to them, and by touching her some of her strength would flow into them. Like she could save them just by being there.

_And She came to me in a vision and laid Her hand on my heart._

_Her touch was like fire that did not burn, and by Her touch I was made pure again._

“Cullen, a word?”

The quiet voice at his side made him jolt out of his reverie and the sounds of raised voices all talking at once crashed back into his ears. He looked down and saw Ariana standing beside him, staring up at him with her wide silvery eyes.

“Yes, of course,” he replied a little hoarsely and followed her to a secluded corner away from the heart of the crowd. Dorian and Bull had vanished, Solas absorbed into the discussion Oryn was holding with her advisors and the remaining Wardens. It was just the pair of them, two islands surrounded by a sea of chaos and confusion, staring at each other. Despite how closely they had to stand to fit into the small space, it suddenly felt like they were galaxies apart in the absence of everyone else.

“You should go?”

Ariana’s simple words cut through him, making him take an involuntary breath in. That he was not expecting. “Wh-What?” He shook his head in confusion. “I should what?”

“You should get out of here while you still can,” she continued in a whisper. Her eyes bored into his, almost overwhelming in their earnest. “This isn’t your fight, you can still get out here without anyone noticing.”

Cullen could barely form a response, his mind a whirlwind of _no way in hell am I going anywhere_. “I’m not going to do that,” he finally responded gruffly, almost insulted she thought he would.

“Why the hell not?” she hissed, taking a step closer and glancing around in case anyone was listening. She was so close he could see the constellations of freckles on her nose. “You don’t owe us anything, you shouldn’t be willing to die so easily. Nobody should have to stay and fight a battle that isn’t theirs.” The sudden fire behind her words scorching the short space between them made his eyes widen. “Nobody.”

Cullen shook away the questions that sprang up at her words, trying to focus. _Maker, she’s standing so close._ “Would you go with me?” he asked before he could realise what he was saying. “Any of you?” he quickly added, willing the flush creeping up his neck to go away.

Ariana blinked, brow twitching in confusion. “Of course not, but-“

“Then I’m not going anywhere.” He placed a hand on her narrow shoulder, mouth opening as if to say more, but then clamping shut again. “I promise, Ariana, I’m not leaving you behind. And whatever happens, it was a pleasure,” he said, wincing inwardly at his formal tone. As he pulled his hand away he felt the brush of her fingertips against his skin, almost as if she was reaching for his hand. But that was impossible, she couldn’t be.

“Where are you going?” Ariana called as he moved away, pushing through the crowd, and he looked back to see her with her hand slightly outstretched as if to catch him. Their eyes locked for a moment before she blinked and dropped her gaze, only to glance back up at him a moment later.

“To find Morrigan,” he replied, giving her a smile. “I still need to ask her about that magic, right?” Before she could reply he’d pushed his way through the crowd, dodging his thoughts and people at the same time as the throng closed behind him, shutting him off from Ariana. He had to focus on the here and now. Nothing else mattered, if he cut off his feelings then he could concentrate on saving as many as he could. He wouldn’t let any more innocent people die if there was anything he could do to prevent it. Not this time.

***

Morrigan was standing calmly, one shoulder propped against the side of a pillar when Cullen found her, apathetically watching the activity around her. She was wearing the same clothes as before, not a single hair out of place, not a single speck of dust on the deep red of her bodice, not a single sign of worry on her dangerously beautiful face.

“Well, if isn’t the Knight-Captain, come to visit me in this hour of war,” she called out to him, her mouth lifting in a deadly smirk. “How marvellous.”

“It’s not Knight-Captain any longer,” he corrected her out of habit, frowning as he pushed through the last throngs of people to stand awkwardly before her. His hand tightened around the hilt of the sword he’d grabbed from a stand before he’d reached her, a shield hanging heavily on his back. From what he could tell, these TEMPLARs wouldn’t be using guns or anything like that, and they needed abnormal weapons to fight abnormal enemies.

She shrugged. “Yes, but people like us never lose their title, do they? I will never cease to be a Witch of the Wilds, and you will never cease to be the Mage hunter that you really are.” Her words were like daggers punching into his gut.

“I’m not-“

“Oh? Then what are you doing right now? Seeking me out for friendly comfort?” Morrigan huffed out a derisive laugh, turning away from him in disinterest. “We both know that isn’t the case. You’ve come to interrogate me before either one of us dies and my knowledge is lost to you forever. How very gauche of you.”

Cullen ground his teeth together. _Hold it together, you need her._ “Fine. Yes, I’ve come to ask you a few questions,” he growled, barely containing his annoyance at the seemingly unaffected woman in front of him. How could she stand there so idly? Didn’t she care about the fate of others?

Morrigan sighed, rolling her golden eyes before standing up straight and facing him properly. “Very well, ask me your questions.”

“How much do you know about blood magic?”

Morrigan’s slanted eyebrow was the only sign of her surprise at the directness his question. “More than most,” was her cryptic response.

“And fade magic?”

“Less than some.”

Cullen fought the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her until she gave him a straight answer. In his entire life he’d never met someone so infuriatingly evasive, and he was an odd combination of impressed and exasperated.

“Come along, _Knight-Captain_ ,” Morrigan taunted relentlessly, crossing her arms over her chest with a wide smile on her face that didn’t reach the coldness in her eyes. “Why do you chase around in circles like this? Why do you not ask me the question that you’re _burning_ to ask me? I can see it, right there, behind your eyes?” Her own bored mercilessly into them, trapping him in her stare. It felt like she was cutting through to the centre of his brain, sifting and sorting through his thoughts like one would rummage through sheets of paper. “Ask me the question, Knight-Captain.” Her words were soft, hushed, hissed at him as if through a fog.

Cullen’s mouth opened and he found the words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them. “What happened to Elissa Cousland?” he whispered, words flooding the space between them like waters from an opened dam.

All traces of the smile gone from her face, Morrigan’s jaw tensed and she stood up to her full height, lifting her chin and gazing at him coldly. “I only know one thing about Elissa. She was far more intelligent than anyone around here knows, her precious husband and Crow included. The enemy has been one step behind us for longer than we all realised, and we foolishly thought we were better than them, more clever, faster. We were wrong, Knight-Captain.” She took a step closer to him, the air around them growing deathly still and cold. “They were waiting, biding their time until we were weak enough for them to take the final step and overwhelm us completely. Elissa was the only one willing to see the choice that had to be made, the sacrifice of the one that would save the many.”

Before Cullen could grasp the sparks of questions that had flared up at her words, a terrifyingly loud crash rushed through the air, rumbles and thunderous booms following closely after it and filling the chamber with a cacophony of noise. Dust shook down from the ceiling, falling onto the terrified faces of the refugees below, all shouts and cries dying in their throats.

“And now it seems we shall see what her sacrifice meant,” Morrigan breathed, head tilted up to the roof, watching the falling dust drifting in the air like clusters of dull stars. “What happens next promises to be most…. Interesting.”

“Detective!” Cassandra’s cry carried over the rumbles above them, and just like that it was as if a dam had broken, screams and shouts crashing through the air like thunder as everyone scrambled into action, some throwing themselves towards the exit, others hoisting weapons onto their shoulders.

Cullen tore his eyes away from the ceiling and looked over to where Morrigan was, finding only empty space. His eyes darted around the crowds but found nothing, she had vanished.

“Cullen!” Cassandra shouted again, forcing him to turn away from the crowds and focus on the Seeker shoving her way through them towards him. A gleaming silverite sword hung at her side, its surface etched into intricate and elaborate designs. She’d donned streamlined and tailored black metal cuirass, looking every inch the famed slayer of dragons her ancestors were.

“What’s happening?” he yelled back, buffeted by people rushing past him and ramming into his shoulders.

“Come on!” she shouted in reply and the two of them pushed through the crowds towards the group at the centre; Oryn’s Inner Circle and the Wardens. Alistair clapped Cullen on the shoulder as he arrived, fingers digging into the muscles out of sheer relief to see his friend.

“Glad you could make it!” he said, not quite managing to make his smile as genuine as usual. Cullen could tell from the dark circles under his eyes and the harrowed lines on his face that the man was exhausted, but he hid it well, turning swiftly away from Cullen and addressing Oryn curtly. “What’s our plan?”

“We need to get as many people away from here as possible,” she replied, eyes briefly darting to Ariana, Dorian and Iron Bull as they emerged from the crowds, similarly armoured and weapons held at the ready. They all looked grim, severe, determined. Strong.

Alistair nodded. “Agreed, I recommend splitting into teams. Give the illusion of more numbers if we’re all spread out over a bigger area. Do we know where they’re coming in from?”

“It sounds like they busted down the front door,” Varric offered darkly. “They knew exactly where to hit us.”

“We knew this day would come, Varric,” Oryn said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be disheartened simply because the bastards knew how to read a map.” She looked back up at Alistair. “We should split into three teams. Bull, you take the Chargers and lead the civilians out through service tunnel C, it’s the closest and strongest, least likely to collapse on top of you should it come to that. Take Sera with you, she’s good on point. Keep them safe and get them as far away from here as possible, understood?”

Bull nodded and turned on his heel, grabbing Dorian’s waist and pulling him into a passionate kiss that left the mage an interesting shade of red before nodded over his shoulder to the rest and diving into the crowds around them. His roar of “CHARGERS! HORNS UP!” was quickly swallowed by the commotion and din of voices.

“Alistair, you, Leliana, Wynne and Zevran take the rest of the people down through the Ant Farm. Josie will go with you to guide you, if anyone chases you they’ll get lost. It’s a fucking maze down there,” Oryn ordered, head snapping over to fix him with steely eyes.

“I’m sorry, I think I heard you wrong,” Alistair broke in before she could say anything else. “I think you just told me to leave?” Despite his words his tone was harsh, almost angry. “This is as much my fight as it is yours, I’m staying right here.”

“No, you’re not. If the Righteous fall then someone has to lead, someone who the people trust. You will get to fight, Alistair,” Oryn said, stepping closer to him and imploring him to listen to reason. “It’s just not today. Please.”

The two stared at each other before Alistair’s resolve broke and his eyes dropped, a sigh rushing out from the very depths of him. “Alright. We’ll lead the rest to safety,” he conceded.

“What about the rest of us?” Ariana said indignantly, glancing around at her companions as the crowds began to thin, Alistair and the rest following behind Josephine as she led them away. They were so efficient, so quick to obey, Cullen thought. It was as if they completely trusted Oryn to make the right decisions, to save all of them. He wondered what she had done to earn that kind of loyalty.

Oryn looked around at who was left. Dorian, Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Ariana, Cullen. She could work with that. A wide, almost manic grin lifted her face, making her bright green eyes sparkle and gleam. “You are my strike team. We’re going to hit the bastards head on, and buy the rest time to escape.”

“So we’re…. the suicide squad? Throwing our lives at them until the rest get to safety?” Varric said, stepping in front of her and squaring his shoulders, looking for all the world like a short, well-muscled block of granite.

“Is that a problem?” Oryn asked, lifting one eyebrow.

“Nope. Just wanted to make sure I got the name right, you know, for when I write up our tales of danger and heroic acts.” He swung his massive crossbow up over one shoulder and gave her a lop-sided grin and a wink. “Ready when you are.”

Oryn nodded at him, lifting her eyes to stare at the team around her. The room had emptied, leaving their group standing in the centre. The rumblings above them were the only noise filling the air around them, crashing into the empty spaces where refugees, fighters, children, women, men, elves, humans, the myriad of people that were the Righteous had once stood together. Now it was only them, the last ones left to hold the line against an unknown enemy.

And they were all looking at her. Expecting her to say something to give them courage, strength, peace, give them a reason to lay down their lives willingly.

She’d never let them down before, she wasn’t about to now.

“We knew this was coming,” Oryn began, looking each one of them in the eye as she spoke, her words steady and strong, unaffected by the crashes and distant shouts above them. “We all knew a day would come when not just our strength, or our blades, or arrows, or magic would be tested, but our faith. Not just in Andraste or the Maker or whatever God makes you sleep better at night but in ourselves, in each other. In the thought that whatever happens we will stand together. That we will stand strong and bound together not just by the Righteous, but by our trust. Our friendship. Our knowledge that whatever happens we will be remembered as heroes. So I ask you now, what will you do to prove that you are worthy to be called that?” Her voice rose to resonate around them, pouring into their minds and filling them with emotions and energies they couldn’t put names to but felt in their very souls, burning like a fire just _daring_ them to release it.

“They attack us in our home! They _dare_ to come into our Haven and draw the blood of our friends, our families!” Oryn yelled, eyes blazing and hand clenching around the sword at her side. “I think it’s about time we show them what that means to even attempt to fight us here. This is our home, and we will NEVER let anyone take it from us! ARE YOU WITH ME!?”

The cries that ripped from their throats before she could even finish the sentence sounded more like animal cries, howls and yells and roars that rose above the thunderous onslaught above and fuelled the fires inside their hearts. Cullen had seen many pep talks in his day, but this was something entirely different. This wasn’t a pep talk this was a challenge, a dare, a rebellion rising from the ashes and blazing into the night sky like a comet.

“MOVE OUT,” Oryn cried, thrusting her sword through the air in a graceful arc, the tip pointing at the doors at the end of the hall, stairs spiralling up to the main floor to where the source of the thunder was. They moved as one towards them, Cullen drawing his sword and hearing the metal ring in his ears as he lifted it. The blade shone at him as he raced forwards with the others, feet slamming on the steps as he ran up, steps pounding in his ears even louder than the occasional rumble from above him. They reached the top, a long wide hallway with two massive metal doors at the end of it, shaking with every deafening boom that came from beyond it. The lights on the ceiling flickered in time with the crashes, the assault on almost every aspect of his sense making the hairs on the back of Cullen’s neck stand on end. Or maybe it was just the magic that skittered through the air as Dorian and Solas held their staffs at the ready, power already gleaming around them and casting eerie glows at their feet. To his left Ariana raised her bow, the gears and long metal limbs clicking into place as she locked an arrow into place, aiming at the doors in front of them, Varric locking and loading in the same moment beside her. Cassandra and Oryn stood to Cullen’s right, swords already raised and shields held at the ready in front of them. As he looked at all of them, the thought that they would actually survive this shot through Cullen’s mind, running through his veins in liquid gold, lighting his senses and giving him more hope than he thought possible. They _could_ win this, they would! His fingers tightened around his sword and he set his mouth into a grim line, eyes fixed on the door in front of them.

The rumbling stopped.

Silence collided against his ears, making them ring in the sudden absence of noise. He could hear his own heart thudding against his ribcage, hear his blood rushing through his veins, hear the sounds of fast, shallow breathing beside him. Then-

Two bangs on the metal, almost like someone knocking.

“Please, I can’t come in unless you open!”

Oryn’s sword lowered, the point brushing against the floor and reverberating against the concrete. Her eyes flicked to Cassandra, who shook her head.

“No, Herald, it is a trap,” she said in a low voice.

Three knocks this time, faster. “Please, I need to warn you!” the voice from beyond the door pleaded. It sounded young, soft, almost like a child’s.

“They could be one of the refugees,” Oryn argued, already taking a step forwards, her eyes fixed on the door.

“Herald!”

“I’m going. Ariana, Varric, cover me. If anything doesn’t look right, shoot them in the head.” Before anyone could say anything more, Oryn ran towards the doors, her sleek battle armour clanking and shifting with the movement. Within seconds she stood before them, dwarfed by expanse of thick, age-tempered metal. She swallowed, squaring her shoulders. As if they could sense her about to open the door, the voice had fallen silent, waiting patiently for her to let them in. Oryn took in a deep breath before reaching out and grasping the sturdy bolt that lay across the doors, sliding it across with a loud metallic screech just enough to allow her to tug open one and jump back, shield raised, ready for an attack.

None came.

She frowned and glanced behind her at the others before taking a cautious step forwards, peering into the darkness beyond the doors, broken by an occasional flash of red light. Nothing was there. No, wait! Her sword swung up as a soldier staggered into view, his armoured vest reflecting dully at her through the gloom. No, that wasn’t metal, it was… stone? Red stone. She opened her mouth, the yell for the archers gathering in her throat ready to release-

Two blades burst through the soldier’s chest from the back, splattering the air between them with thick, hot blood. The soldier collapsed in a gruesome pile, blood spilling out onto the stone as a young man straightened and stepped calmly over the body towards her, thin shoes squelching against the puddle of gore. His plain brown shirt was soaked in blood, some dried, some still fresh, his eyes hidden underneath the brim of a wide hat. In his hands were the two knifes Oryn had just seen sticking out of another man’s chest.

She raised her blade, dropping back a few steps. He kept to the shadows, out of sight from the archers behind her.

“Who the fuck are you?” she hissed.

“I’m Cole,” he replied, his voice wavering slightly. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you…” He broke off, glancing behind him at something she couldn’t see. “You probably already know.”

“Herald, what is this, what’s going on?” Ariana’s voice demanded loudly from behind her.

“They have come to kill you,” Cole continued, daring to take another step forwards. “The red TEMPLARs went to the Elder One, you know him, he knows you.” With his eyes hidden, Oryn couldn’t tell who he addressed that to. “He’s very angry…”

“And you’re not working with him?” Oryn had just seen him kill an enemy soldier, but was still trying to wrap her head around this new development. But at this point, an informer might be just what they needed.

Cole shook his head.

Oryn narrowed her eyes before dropping her sword and nodding at him to come through the doors. “Then welcome-“

Something red, sharp and very deadly slammed into the metal door beside her head, breaking off her words and making them choke back into her lungs painfully.

“RUN!” she screamed and grabbed Cole’s arm, dragging the skinny boy with her as she raced back to the group, hearing a screech and whistling sound behind her, twisting mid-step to raise her shield and block the shard flying at her neck. Shrieks and roars tore through the air as the darkness seemed to seep down the hallway towards them, Oryn swinging Cole in front of her protectively and batting more shards out of the air with her sword as they reached the others, shattering them against the wall like glass. Clouds of thick red smoke exploded up from where they broke, filling the air with the acrid smell of blood and metal.

“They’re coming!” Cole gasped, his pale blue eyes so wide they seemed like they would pop out of his skull as he sank into the group, shoulders hunched forwards like he could disappear from view entirely. “An ancient red magic, wings of death and despair, a beast squeezed into a skin sack, the bloodied traitor, they’re all coming! Their puppets….” He choked, leaning forwards and cradling his head in his hands, groaning in pain. “You must leave! They’re….” Gulping in a few deep breathes, Cole suddenly went still, lifting his chin to raise his eyes to the people leaning over him, eyes seeking out one person in the crowd. “They’re going to kill you.”

A deafening roar lurched towards them, shaking the dust off their bones and freezing their veins with the sheer force of the cry. Cullen took an involuntary step back, eyes darting to Oryn who was still staring at Cole, her face ashen and eyes wide in horror as his words sank in, paralysed by the boy in front of her. Who was staring at Ariana.

The elf shot a barrage of arrows at the doors, falling back a few steps as they crashed open, slamming against the walls and shaking as another shriek found its way to her ears. “Herald! We have to go!” She nocked another arrow, dodging a shard that whistled past her ear, slicing a shallow cut on the tip, bright red blood welling up against the soft peach skin. “We can’t hold this position! They have-“

Her words died in her throat as the walls around the doors cracked and began to fall apart, broken from the force slamming against them from the other side. Another ear-splitting roar cut through her senses as something forced itself through the opening, concrete falling in chunks and smashing onto the floor, dust rising in clouds around the hole. The shadows seemed to warp, twist, flex like a living creature as the remainder of the doors and wall came tumbling down, hurtling to the floor and exploding into smithereens.

“They have a dragon…”

Ariana’s words, spilling from her frozen lips in a horrified whisper, seemed to jolt Oryn from whatever terror had kept her rooted to the spot and she whirled around, hair whipping across her dust and sweat covered face as her eyes saw the monster’s head snaking through the entrance and catching sight of them. Its mouth opened, a gaping maw filled with razor sharp teeth, blood dripping down from the gruesome opening to pool sickeningly on the floor before spraying up towards them as it roared once more, the wave of hot, meaty breath racing down the hallway and slamming into them. It smelt like death, ashes, burning.

“GO!” Oryn’s yell ripped through the warriors around her, breaking the paralytic spell and making their feet act before their minds could think.

Cullen twisted around and ran, Maker how he _ran_ , tearing towards the stairs behind them, hands reaching out to unconsciously grab Dorian as he stumbled, setting the Mage on his feet without breaking his stride. He felt the air around him slice open as shards shot towards his retreating back, heard pounding footsteps behind them as the puppets Cole warned them about poured through the ruined doorway, catching their scent and giving chase like bloodthirsty, rabid predators.

He reached the stairs, swinging to the side and almost shoving Dorian and Solas through first, their lack of armour making his stomach twist protectively. _Dorian first, Varric next, stop shooting for the Maker’s sake, now Solas, Cassandra and Oryn went before, all that’s left is-_

“Ariana!” he shouted to the elf still a few feet away, pausing in her flight to shoot an enemy soldier through the eye. As she heard her name she turned, racing down the hallway towards him but she was too slow, the soldiers were catching up her, their eyes gleaming through the helmets and wrappings around their heads that trailed behind them like grotesque flapping limbs, they almost had her and then-

Blood sprayed through the air in a graceful arc, splattering hotly onto the walls and ceiling and landing on Cullen’s face and wide-open mouth. Ariana had turned at the last second, arrow in hand, slicing across the face of the nearest soldier before whirling around and throwing it at the next, the force sending it through his stomach and out of his back.

“Go!” she yelled as she scrambled towards him, arrow in one hand and bow in the other, twisting and slamming it into the head of a soldier who had leapt out of the shadows towards her, arms covered in massive, razor sharp red lyrium. It crumpled under the blow but clambered up a few seconds later, skidding back, sparks flying up from the shard arm it pressed to the floor.

Cullen drew his blade, the metal ringing in the air and filling him with fire. _Remember how to fight, Cullen._ “Not without you!” he roared, running forwards and swinging his sword out as he did, the blade sinking into the stomach of another soldier, blood and shriek surrounding him as it fell. He surged out with his shield, feeling the wet crunch of bone as it made contact with something. His hair stuck to his forehead as he turned on the spot, sword slashing out in a lethal arc, sprays of blood scattering around him and hitting his face and splatting onto the armour plating across his chest and arms. Reaching out, he grabbed Ariana’s arm with his shield hand and forced her to start running away from the onslaught, pausing only briefly to skewer another soldier blocking their path to the stairs. He kept his eyes fixed on her back as she skipped down the first few steps, mouth set into a grim line as he turned, running backwards to make sure nobody followed them before he felt his foot fall through empty air and onto the first step. In front of him, mutilated soldiers scrambled over the corpses of the pitiful few they’d managed to cut down, eyes gleaming red at him and terrifying shrieks ripping from their covered mouths, the fabric stained with blood and drool. Before they could reach the stairwell, Cullen slammed the door closed, spinning the large metal wheel, locks sliding across it and slamming it shut with a satisfyingly heavy thud.

He wasted no time in turning tail and racing down the stairs, grabbing Ariana’s arm again as he passed her frozen form, still staring at the door with a strange light in her eyes. Fear, or bloodlust, he couldn’t tell, but he wasn’t going to let her stick around to find out.

They ran ever downwards, the bangs and crashes of the creatures throwing themselves at the door fading into dull thuds as they sank into the belly of the fortress. The blood pounded loudly in Cullen’s ears reminding him almost painfully that he was still alive. As they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs, tumbling back into the wide room where they’d stood and planned attacks what felt like days ago, Cullen almost crashed straight into Dorian.

“We are NOT fighting a dragon!” the Mage was yelling, his hair in disarray and formerly fine clothes now covered in drying blood and dust.

“I know, I know!” Oryn replied, her words too fast and too breathless as she paced back and forth, hand pressed to her forehead and eyes wide and glassy. “We need…. We need to get out. Haven can’t stand against that, no matter how many people we have. We need…” Her words broke into quick gasps as she tried to breathe, both her hands now tangled in her hair. She looked wild, broken, a shell of the leader she’d been only minutes before.

Cassandra marched forwards and took Oryn’s arms into her grip, pulling them gently but firmly away from her head. “We need to retreat,” she said darkly, her tone leaving no room for arguments. “We have bought them time, everyone else has escaped and so should we. There is no point laying down our lives if we can live to fight another day, and on better ground than this.”

“But Haven-“

“Is lost,” Cassandra interrupted, breaking off Oryn’s plea. “Herald. Your people need you alive.” Her tone softened and she dropped Oryn’s arms, placing a hand gently on the other woman’s shoulder. “Everything else is expendable.”

Oryn took in a few deep breathes and straightened, her shoulders squaring and her jaw tightening as she gave Cassandra a nod. “Alright. We retreat.” She turned on her heel to look at her tattered, bruised band. “We can use the back entrance to get to the surface. It’ll be dangerous, but Cassandra is… Cassandra is right.” She swallowed, her lips setting into an unforgiving line. “Haven is lost.

“The main vent entrance is on the floor above us,” she continued, walking around to stand between the group and the stairwell. “Just below where the… red TEMPLARs broke through. We should be able to make it before they get there, there’s about 3 locked doors between us and them now, one on the main floor and two on the next. Once we’re there, we can hit the deadlock button.”

“The deadlock button?” Cullen asked.

“Haven has two bulkhead doors,” Oryn explained. “The floor between us and the main one acts as a sort of… emergency evacuation point. It’s just one long, massive room, the bulkheads are at each end. There’s a few entrances to it, but they should be sealed. If we can get the TEMPLARs to chase us into it we can close the bulkheads and trap them. It’ll buy us enough time to escape, maybe even blow the base later. The doors are 5 feet thick, they can withstand anything. Even a dragon.”

As if summoned by her words, there was a tremendous metallic wrenching noise from above them, something coming crashing down the stairs to slam against the floor in front of them.

It was the door from the top of the stairwell, bent and pummelled into a barely recognisable mess.

“And it looks like we’re out of time!” Oryn cried as the sounds of the creatures’ shrieks and screams began growing louder and louder. She drew her sword in a single, graceful movement. “Run!”

She didn’t need to say it twice, everyone turning as one and sprinting after Cass towards the opposite door.

***

“So instead of a glorious head-on battle, we’re running for our lives while dodging attacks coming from behind us like common nugs!?” Dorian yelled as he sprinted down the hallway, twisting to fire a quick barrage of icy shots at their attackers, knocking the closest ones down with balls of solid ice that punched through their helmets, blood forcing up and out of the ruined metal casings. “How _marvellous_!”

“You’re welcome to stop and fight them yourself, Dorian!” Ariana shouted back, turning and crouching mid-step only to spring back up and over in a graceful backflip, dozens of arrows raining down behind her. She grinned as they connected, the tiny explosions from the tips sending up a hot wave of air over her back as she regained her balance and began running again. They hadn’t been caught yet, almost making it to the next level’s staircase on the other side of the complex, but it was feeling more and more like their shots were doing little more than slowing the creatures down slightly, and apparently pissing them off judging from the harsh shrieks and guttural howls from behind them.

Dorian snorted, twirling his staff in his hands as he ran, robes fluttering behind him like wings. “As tempting as that offer is, I will have to-DOWN!”

The breath was knocked out of Ariana’s lungs as Dorian’s weight slammed into her, pushing her to the side just before another one of those damned shards came shooting at the space where her head had been. Stumbling only briefly, she quickly recovered and spun on the spot, loosing a few short, deadly blades into the chest of the TEMPLAR that had thrown it. With a burst of blood and a high-pitched gurgle, it fell, only to be trampled by its former comrades. With their wrappings becoming unravelled around their faces, their gaping and drooling mouths came into view, screeching at her with discoloured lips and deep red veins. She tried not to look back for too long.

“We’re almost there!” came the yell from the front in Oryn’s voice. “Just hold against them for a minute more!”

“Easy for her to say, she’s at the front!” Dorian grunted, swinging his staff around, the tip glowing with luminescent frost which coalesced into a gleaming star for a second before barraging down the hallway with the force of a freight train, knocking down everything in its icy wake. The lingering frost was quickly thawed by a burst of flame from Solas, scorching the TEMPLARs unlucky enough to survive the initial blast. It bought them precious seconds, but only a handful. Whatever these things were, they were tough.

“Nothing is easy for her,” Cole gasped breathlessly, his face lit with a deep pink flush, his mouth open and gulping for oxygen as he sprinted. “Feels like rock, crushing, breaking, shattering slowly under the weight but I must hold on, _I must not break_.”

Ariana nocked another arrow, boots pounding over the uneven concrete as she leapt over a piece of fallen ceiling. “Very helpful,” she growled, twisting so sharply she thought her spine might break as she fired the arrow through the eye socket of a creature that had leapt from the shadows a few feet away, a few of Varric’s bolts pounding helpfully into its chest at the same time. The momentum carryied it back through the air to crash against the wall and topple, a wide smear of blood and gore trailing down the stone after it. In front of her, Cullen had hoisted the boy’s arm up over his shoulder as he ran, his own wrapped around his skinny waist as he practically carried Cole the last few feet towards the wide entrance of the stairwell.

Ariana slung her bow up and across her back where it bumped awkwardly against her almost empty quiver as she mounted the first steps of the stairwell, Dorian following closely at her heels, pausing only briefly to throw up a massive wall of ice between them and the TEMPLARs. Her head spun with adrenaline as she clambered up the stairs, her lungs and muscles burning with every step she took. This had to end soon, she didn’t know how much longer she could last, it seemed like all her fibres were screaming, her veins bone dry, her arms and legs about to snap off and her entire body shattering if she so much as took another breath.

But she did still breathe, still continued up the stairs, still unmoving in her resolve to fight and possibly die for Haven. She owed it that much.

Suddenly, her foot fell through empty air and she stumbled against Solas whose arms rose readily to catch her before she could fall.

“Thanks,” she panted, leaning on his arm as she straightened, glancing up into his face to see a strange expression in his eyes before it was quickly shoved out of sight.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, waiting for her to regain balance before dropping his arms, his hands lingering on her forearms a moment too long before disappearing and leaving her oddly aware of the sudden coldness on her skin, even under her sleeves. “I assume this is the bulkhead floor?” he continued, looking around at the darkness that surrounded him, the rushing noise on either side making it obvious how large the void where they stood was.

“Yep,” Ariana breathed, walking forwards as Dorian swung the stairwell door closed behind them. “End of the line.”

Solas stuck close to her side, conjuring a small magelight in his hands, the silvery orb rising from his palms to hover above them, whispering and hissing like a gas flame. If she listened closely enough, Ariana thought she could hear tiny voices laughing and speaking out to her from within the hypnotic gleam.

The group caught their breath, Cullen dropping Cole’s arm from his shoulders and patting the boy on the shoulder before moving around to stare at their surroundings. Oryn wasn’t lying when she said it was an empty floor, there was nothing but a few pillars dotted around, breaking the immense wasteland that stretched out on all sides before being swallowed into impregnable darkness. There was no sound, no breeze, no distantly dripping water, no rumbling, just what felt like miles and miles of vast, barren nothingness. An icy feeling settled over Cullen and he shivered, unable to break the feeling that something was wrong. It was far too quiet, too empty, too dark, too _everything._ He hated it. It felt like he was floating in an immense galaxy, almost crushing him with its infinity.

“We need to move on,” Oryn said, breaking the tense silence, her words echoing out for a few feet before being caught by the shadows as well.

Cullen couldn’t agree more, and the group followed her as she and Cassandra led them across the hall, the glowing orb floating above them as they moved and casting a puddle of bluish light around them like a barrier against the darkness. Thanks to Dorian’s quick thinking with the wall of ice, they couldn’t even hear the TEMPLARs below them and there was no sign of the dragon. It seemed like it had been summoned to just break through their defences and leave the rest to the foot soldiers. Strange… But he wasn’t going to second guess anything at this point. It was better to just focus on getting out and surviving. Plenty of time for thinking after he’d made sure he was still alive.

“Cullen?”

Ariana’s voice made him start slightly and he looked down to see her walking beside him. She’d never cease to amaze him with how quietly she could move. Or maybe he was just prone to drifting off in thought when around her…

“Yes?” he replied, quickly realising he hadn’t acknowledged her yet. _Smooth move, idiot._

“I uh…. I just wanted to say that um…” Maker’s breath, was she flustered? Judging by how her hands were twisting together, he could only assume that yes, she was. Out of all the things he’d seen that day, that was definitely one of the more surprising ones.

“I just wanted to say that I’m glad you stayed,” she finished finally, her words coming out quickly, almost tripping over themselves in her haste to say them.

A sudden warmth washed over Cullen, like a fire had been stoked to life inside his chest. “Oh?” he managed to say, trying not to show his pleasure at her words.

She nodded. “I don’t think… Well, I would have probably got myself killed in that corridor if you hadn’t dragged me out of it,” she said in a rush as if she was afraid of someone stopping her. “I think you belong here, with us.” Her wide grey eyes found his amber ones, gold clashing with silver as they met. Her mouth opened like she was going to say more, but then snapped shut, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Cullen forgot how to speak. Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he kicked himself inwardly until his brain finally jolted into gear. “I, uh-“ He coughed and tried again. “You’re welcome.” Why couldn’t he look her in the eye anymore? He’d just done it a second ago, but now he couldn’t seem to summon the courage to glance back at those gorgeous silvery irises again. Maker, he almost wished the TEMPLARs would attack again just so he wouldn’t look like such an idiot, all flustered and bright red. Hopefully she couldn’t see that in the magelight though. _Please, Maker, give me a distraction, anything would be good, please!_

“There it is!” Oryn’s cry brought him back to reality and he almost cried with thanks at her words. Soon they would be out of this hell hole and back in the city, which was the first time he thought he’d been glad to return there. He followed where she was pointing, catching sight of the dim sight a small green light flashing weakly at him through the darkness. It seemed like it was miles away, but it filled him with more hope than he thought possible. They would make it, they would actually make it!

Oryn spun around, grinning at them, her eyes sparkling at them and glowing through the gloom. It was the most genuine expression Cullen had ever seen gracing her features and he couldn’t help but smile back. Yeah, everything would be alright.

A sickeningly familiar whistling noise shredded through his thoughts like a lightning bolt. A wave of fire flooded over Cullen and he opened his mouth to yell at Oryn to-

_Thunk_

Oryn stared down at the shard buried in her chest.

Time seemed to stand still as her eyes lifted to stare at Cullen, so wide that the irises seemed to float in a sea of white, her mouth slightly open, the ghost of the grin still lingering on her face. She almost looked like she was about to say something, but then time came crashing back around them and blood sputtered from her mouth as she tipped forwards, her body crumpling to the ground as if she was a rag doll. As if it never held life in the first place.

Someone was screaming. Cullen couldn’t tell who, his mind still spinning and eyes still riveted on the spot where Oryn had been standing a few seconds earlier. She had been _standing_ , she was alive but now she was dead oh maker she was dead Oryn was dead Oryn was-

“CULLEN!”

Something was tugging at his arm, dragging him away, his feet tripping over themselves. More shards whistled past his ear, and he was dimly aware of things swarming towards them from every direction, spilling from the shadows and pouring around the pillars like water.

_Oryn said the other entrances were sealed._

His feet connected with something on the floor and he stumbled, tumbling to the ground and smacking his face painfully against the concrete. The heavy fog around his mind was swept away by a wave of red hot pain and he blinked, gasping in lungfuls of air and shaking his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. Immediately he shot back up, whipping around to stare at the force approaching them. Ariana was kneeling beside Oryn, screaming as Dorian tried to drag her away as well. The mage lifted his staff in his other hand, a massive barrier encompassing them like watery steel, deflecting shards before forcing outwards, slamming a few creatures into the air before dissipating.

Cullen lurched forwards, going to help Dorian but something was holding his arm in an iron grip and he looked back to see Cassandra holding him.

“RUN!” she yelled, dragging him with her as she sprinted towards the exit. His head snapped back to watch Dorian practically pick up Ariana and force her to start running with him, her steps faltering as she almost fell, her eyes wide with shock and her face paler than bone. He was pulling ahead of her, letting go of her arm as they tore towards the main group, closing in on the exit with the last dregs of their strength, running like there was fire licking at their heels.

Cullen could see the doorway, he was almost there, but the bulkhead wasn’t down and how where they going to-

Sparks flew up against the darkness, coming from just beside the exit, the sudden explosion of bright white light against the utter darkness scorching Cullen’s eyes. As his vision cleared, he saw a dagger sticking out of a fuse box, the blade embedded in a large button. The green light he’d seen earlier was flashing more frantically now, set into the wall just above the box. It pulsed faster and faster before switching to an angry red that blazed across the short distance at him like a flame. Loud, klaxon alarms collided against his ear drums, making his head almost burst with the intensity of the sound.

A metallic screeching noise made his head snap up and he saw an impossibly thick metal beam emerge from the shadows above him, narrowing the remainder of the hall between them and the exit. Wait… it wasn’t a beam, it was the bulkhead! He glanced over his shoulder, hair whipping into his eyes as he raced forwards. Behind him he could see the bulkhead lowering over the other end, and Oryn’s collapsed body with her arm outstretched and a smear of blood carving an arc around from where she’d fallen to where she lay now, perfectly still.

With her last breath, Oryn had saved them all.

Cullen thought his ribs would shatter with the force that his heart was pounding against them. There was lightning in his blood, spiking him with sudden power as he surged forwards, the descending bulkhead looming over him. Cassandra, Solas and Varric stood on the other side, frozen by the arch that marked their salvation, eyes fixed on him as they yelled and gestured at him to hurry. Almost there, he was almost-

His feet slid out from under him and his body skidded the last few feet on momentum alone, dust raising in angry clouds behind him. Rolling over, he sprang to his feet and reached out a hand to grab Dorian who was bent forwards, the bottom of the bulkhead grazing the top of his head as he scrambled towards them, Cullen’s hands wrenching him forwards as their fingers locked.

Dorian spun around, eyes wild and hair in disarray. His eyes darted around, trying to find the elf that had been behind him, the air rushing out of his lungs as he realised she wasn’t there.

She was still beyond the bulkhead, her legs almost a blur as she tore towards them, vaulting over fallen TEMPLARs knocked down by Dorian’s barrier.

“Ariana!” Cullen yelled and leapt forwards, reaching out his hand desperately as she closed in on him. She was too far away, she wasn’t going to make it. The bulkhead continued lowering mercilessly before him and Cullen reached out as far as he dared, the edge of the metal scuffing his shoulder as he pressed forwards, cutting into his muscle as it came down, but he refused to move, he refused to take a single step back until he felt Ariana’s fingers on his. He could see Ariana, she was just beyond the bulkhead, she could still-

Arms wrapped around his body, tugging him back before the bulkhead could crush his shoulder into dust.

“No!” he roared, struggling wildly, but the arms held him fast, refusing to give as he fought with all his strength. “ARIANA!!”

His cry was swallowed up as the bulkhead hit the stone, the deep rumble as it settled shattering his heart into millions of tiny pieces, his world crumbling around him and he sagged, reaching out to willingly surrender his mind to the darkness and letting it swallow him whole.

_I promised I wouldn’t leave her behind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10, posted exactly 10 days after my last update. Leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed this! Hopefully it was worth the wait. I didn't proof-read this, so apologies for any mistakes.


	11. Taking the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long to upload this! Writing this during attempting to move out of my house and entirely from one person's perspective is really quite challenging. The chapter after this should be up within the next week because half of it is actually already written, so don't worry, your patience with me will be rewarded. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

_Let the blade pass through the flesh,_

_Let my blood touch the ground,_

_Let my cries touch their hearts._

_Let mine be the last sacrifice_

\- Andraste 7:12

 

Ariana was gone. Oryn was gone. Both their bodies lay dead and cold and trampled by the mutilated and evil creatures who had once stood as the sole protectors of the city. A protector Cullen had once been proud to call himself, turned against their morals and calling and spreading their wrath and ruin across innocent people like a foul scourge, casting themselves down from Heaven into the Black City itself, tarnish and rust corrupting the armour that had once rang brighter than starlight. And Cullen could have been one of them. He could have been the one to shoot Oryn through the heart, drag Ariana back from the gates and tear her to shreds. He could see it, seared into his brain and rising like bile in his throat every time he closed his eyes. He’d heard the screams that had been cut off as if by a guillotine before the bulkhead had lowered the last few metres. He’d had to listen to her screaming over and over and over until the door had slammed with sickening finality, silencing her in an instant. What they were doing to her now, he couldn’t imagine. He didn’t want to imagine. But he had broken his promise, and now she was dead. Another innocent life lost because of him. Because he wasn’t fast enough to grab her, because he’d got involved, because he-

Because he wasn’t good enough. And he’d have to live with that every single day, with every breath he took he would be reminded that he’d failed, every time he’d fall asleep he’d dream of her death and he’d wake remembering his broken promise until the day he died.

It would have been better if he’d died instead.

***

Air rushed into her lungs, grabbing her brain and forcing it into consciousness, shock pouring over her like an icy waterfall. She was lying on her side, her arm flung over her chest and head turned towards the floor. Something hot and sticky coated her face, running into her eyes, stopping her from opening them more than a crack. Impenetrable darkness surrounded her, draped over her senses like a heavy blanket. Wait, no, red light flooded over everything in a heartbeat, lighting her surroundings in dim, dancing hues. Covering the floor around her was a sea of dark liquid, quickly congealing in the cold, musty air. Blood, she was lying in blood. Bile rose in her throat but she squashed it down, swallowing desperately until she’d calmed down enough for her eyes to dart around the gloom. Directly in front of her, the body of a fallen TEMPLAR stared at her in shock, the eyes wide and speckled with red veins, reflecting balefully back at her. Its jaw was slack, blood dripping from its mouth and pooling on the concrete beneath. An arrow, her arrow, was embedded in its head.

Movement just beyond the body caught her eye and she caught sight of a swarm of creatures before the lights blinked out again and she was left in utter darkness with nothing but the knowledge that she was inches away from death to keep her company. In the dark her ears sought out her bearings, bringing the sound of low, pulsing hisses and animalistic growls relentlessly to her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She needed to concentrate, _don’t think about the blood, don’t think about the way it’s seeping through your hair and against your skin, don’t think about the body, don’t think about the creatures literally only metres away from you don’t think don’t think don’t think_

She knew they must think she was dead, both the creatures and her friends on the other side of the bulkhead. She knew that someone else was dead in this hall, someone important, someone….

_Fenedhis lasa, Oryn!_

Her eyes snapped open and darted around, trying vainly to find Oryn’s body in the complete blackness surrounding her. With every shallow, quick breath she gasped in it felt like tiny blades were stabbing all over her skin, waves of heat prickling uncomfortably at her edges and corners, breaths coming faster and faster. She had to find her, she had to-

Red light washed over everything in a sickly, bloodied hue. Oryn, no, Oryn’s body, Ariana corrected herself quickly with bile rising in her throat, was lying just above her head. The woman’s outstretched fingers brushed Ariana’s hair as the elf twitched unconsciously at the sight of her friend’s corpse lying just a few centimetres away. The cold digits wavered across her tattooed forehead as she tilted her head up without meaning to just to catch a glimpse of Oryn. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the TEMPLARs swarming around them, drying splatters of blood coating her chin and dripping gooily on the already covered floor. Ariana swallowed thickly, forcing the vomit back down her throat as she saw her, tears rising in her eyes and running down across her face, stinging on the shallow grazes and cuts. It was a sickening thing, to lie paralysed on the floor beside a person you had once called friend, covered in a cold and congealed mixture of their blood and the blood of those who had killed them. It was an experience she’d hoped to never have again, but this… This was nothing like the first time. This meant something. This made her heart scream out and batter against her ribs while her lungs seemed to shrivel and retreat into her chest, her brain shutting down completely and leaving her to merely lie petrified in an ocean of torment and black gore.

She had to get out of here. But where would she even go? The TEMPLARs were everywhere, massing into every crevice they could find and sticking there like mould. Up? If she could get to an exit she could go up, but all the exits were now firmly sealed behind the bulkheads. How the hell was she going to get past the bulkheads. Panic started to creep, uninvited, at the rapidly fraying edges of her mind, pulling apart the fabric and gleefully tugging threads until they unravelled into a tangled mess.

No. Think, Ariana, think. You’re the best at what you do, so try and fucking use that and get up. What would Oryn say?

_Find a way forwards._

But what was forwards? The red light blinked out again, bringing an odd comfort of ignorance over her. She could just pretend she was alone, that there wasn’t blood all over one side of her body, that her friend’s corpse wasn’t lying just-

_Find a way forwards._

The bulkheads ran from one end of the hall to the other, cutting her off from conventional doorways. But they weren’t the only doorways, Ariana realised with a jolt. Find a way forwards, find a way up. Find a way up, find a way forwards. Who said the two were mutually exclusive? The vents. If she could get to the vents, she could get out.

Ok, so the goal was decided. But how was she going to even get over there? A sea of all the TEMPLARs unlucky enough to be trapped in there with her lay between her and the vent. At least she had her bow slung across her back, but it wouldn’t be enough. What would Oryn do? She waited patiently for a sudden inspiration, but none came. Alright, what would Keeper Deshanna say?

_Fool girl, shouldn’t have been involved with human affairs. Should have stayed with the clan._

_But I couldn’t stay with the clan, could I, Keeper? Not after-_

Ariana mentally slapped herself. Stay focused, dammit! Stop using your skill of floating away and disappearing into your thoughts!

Of course, it was so simple. She hadn’t done it for a while, years even, but she could still do it, she knew she could. She could melt into the shadows, quiet her breath and still her heart, encase herself in a cloak of darkness like her Keeper had taught her so long ago. But she needed to concentrate. The stakes had never been higher but somehow that helped, it kept her mind on edge. Nothing like a horde of bloodthirsty mutants to keep you grounded. So just concentrate. Ariana closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and placing a blanket over her mind as she did so. Another breath, shallower this time, and she put a calming hand over her heart, stilling the rapidly beating organ and sending it soothingly into a peaceful slumber. Coldness seeped out from inside her body, cascading slowly over her and making her brain suddenly scream out for air, but she ignored it, sending the concern to the back of her mind where it dulled into a whisper. Her lungs took in a tiny measure of air and then stopped, collapsing and forcing the remainder of oxygen inside out of her mouth, her nose, her ears, her eyes, everywhere. Everything was quiet. Everything was still. She was barely alive, a few inches away from death, but she could see the distinction clearly in her mind and she knew where she stood. She was safe. She was alive, but also dead. She was shadow and smoke and void itself.

The shadow who was once Ariana opened her eyes. Even in the darkness she could see perfectly. Of course she could, she _was_ the darkness. Everything seemed both sharply in focus, stabbing almost painfully against her smoky form but also strangely blurred as if she was seeing it from deep underwater, or from behind a veil. Smoothly she stood, leaving no outline in the blood, no footsteps as she moved away, no trace she ever existed as she floated unconsciously to the comforting embrace of the shadows by the bulkhead. A TEMPLAR assassin passed her, its glowing red eyes darting around, the irises looking like fractured gems in the drawn grey skin of its face. It was a person once, she thought dimly. She could see its former shape, a proud guard, protector of the city, drifting around it like a smokescreen. She dropped her gaze, no emotion registering in her corporeal mind as she glided down the massive metal wall towards her destination.

The vents ran below the ceiling, suspended in the air like great square pipes. Ariana stood below one, staring up at it. If she was more than a ghostly imprint of her real self she might have felt dejected, scared, daunted, stranded, and a lot more words all summing up to completely and utterly hopeless. The grated square that marked the entrance to the vent tunnels was over six foot out of her reach and she had no ladder, no rope, no grappling hook, nothing. No way of reaching her only chance at survival.

It was probably a good thing these things barely registered at the back of the shadowy depths of her mind before flitting away like moths chasing something far more attractive and interesting.

At least the crowd of TEMPLAR creatures had thinned out, only a few milling around a few steps away. There were fewer bodies here too, less blood to slip in, less gore to tread on, colder too judging from the stale breeze that swirled around her, stirred up by the incessant moving of the hellish creatures trapped with her. Her brain was razor sharp and she saw all her options laid out before her like she was looking into a perfectly clear iced lake, straight down to the wildlife below. There was an answer hidden somewhere, she knew it.

Ariana’s eyes snapped over to a body just at the edge of the TEMPLAR group nearest to her. It was unremarkable except for one significant thing which caused relief to wash over her in a wonderfully refreshing cold swell. A long spear was clutched in its ruined hand, the tarnished metal blade at the end slightly curved with a wicked-looking serrated inner hook. It was disgusting, covered in something slick and oily, and completely and utterly perfect.

She quickly darted over to it and delicately slid it out of the TEMPLAR’s hand. As soon as her ghostly hand touched the solid object, thoughts and emotions that had been carefully held back behind a steel wall of willpower began pouring through her mind, forcing her back into the present and making her body suddenly scream out for life again. She froze in an awkward crouch behind the creatures who were so close she could feel the heat blazing off them, hand still wrapped around the spear. _Concentrate, Ariana, concentrate…_ She closed her eyes, retreating back into herself, calming down until she regained control over her corporeal form. Opening her eyes a crack, she carefully continued to edge the spear out of the rigor-mortised claw.

Hours could have passed in that time, years, but she finally managed to slip the last few millimetres out of it’s grip and dash back to the opening as quickly as a summer breeze racing through the air. She was so close she could almost taste freedom in the bitter, icy flavour lingering in her mouth, tongue drier than a desert and sticking to the roof of her mouth. She had to be quick or the effects from the stealth would be irreversible.

Shoving those invasions to the back of her mind, Ariana focused on easing the grate open with the tip of the spear. With every inch it slid to the slide she prayed for silence, knowing that even the slightest noise would alert the TEMPLARs to her presence. Awareness prickled over her mind and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the hisses and low growls of the creatures surrounding her. _Elgar’nan, there were so many… No, don’t think about that!_ The grate finally slid open enough for her to crawl through and the spear hooked itself firmly on the side, the hook sinking into the metal and holding fast. Now for the hard part.

Ariana took in a deep breath and hoisted herself up, feet dangling off the ground and all her weight suddenly relying solely on her arms and upper body. She could do this, she was strong and young and an elf, they’re used to climbing like this all the time, right, Ariana reminded herself, forcing one hand up and over the other, lifting higher. It probably didn’t help that she was carrying an extremely heavy, solid metal longbow across her back, and trying to concentrate on maintaining stealth at the same time as climbing. A hand went up and over again, climbing automatically. A few passes more, and she was almost within arm’s reach of the vent, she could smell the fresh air rushing through it from the surface. She was almost free, almost safe, almost-

Her sweat-slick hand slipped on the shaft and she dropped like a stone, vertigo jolting her out of stealth and forcing a squeak out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her hands tightened automatically on the spear, but the damage was already done.

Hundreds of gleaming red eyes fixed on her like lasers through a fog, cutting through her defences and paralysing her, still hanging barely a foot off the ground but miles away from salvation. There was a deathly silence, nobody moving, nobody breathing, before time crashed back around them like a flood, bringing a cacophony of enraged shrieks and howls as the TEMPLARs scrambled towards her in a single, solid, red mass. Adrenaline ripped Ariana’s mind out of pure terror and her hands scrabbled at the spear, desperately climbing faster than she would have thought possible, hoisting herself up as if flames were licking at her ankles and TEMPLARs were clawing at her back. Were those fingers or just beads of sweat prickling down her back? She wasn’t going to stay long enough to find out. The vent was almost in reach, just a few more pulls and she would be able to reach it.

A hand grabbed her ankle but she kicked it away, the sharpness of the lyrium around the fingers spurring her on even faster, but her hands wouldn’t stop slipping, wouldn’t stop shaking, she could barely breathe anymore.

Something caught on the bow at her back and she was plummeted down halfway, a scream bursting from her lungs as arms wrapped around her neck and shoulders and pinned her arms to her sides with vice-like strength. It was like she was caught in ropes of fire, thick and choking, not shifting no matter how she struggled, metallic screeches filling her ears as visions of bloodied, fang-filled mouths danced relentlessly in her mind. Her bow was stuck, held in an iron grip and she was trapped by the bowstring, cutting across her chest and through her exposed skin. The smell of her blood filled the air and the grip around her tightened even further, forcing her last breath out of her mouth. She had to get free, she had to escape, she had to do _something_! Her fingers fumbled at her side, grabbing for the hilt of the dagger she always kept there. The rough leather grip finally found her desperate fingertips and she flicked it free, slicing through her leggings and jarring against the body armour beneath. Forcing her arm up against the weight pinning it to her side, she slid the blade between her exposed throat and the bowstring. More blood trickled down from her collarbone, but the heavy feel of it on her skin just urged her to push against the string even harder, gathering the last of her quickly dying strength until it snapped completely, the creatures holding her tumbling back as it dropped, falling over themselves from the sudden lack of tension.

Before they could recover, Ariana leaped up the spear and grabbed the cold edge of the vent, blind relief crashing through her and washing her mind in pure white. Pulling herself up, she rolled up and over into the vent, smashing against the wall and making the impact shudder through her like thunder, rattling her teeth. She quickly wrenched the spear free and watched it fall into the abyss, splintering under the feet of the TEMPLARs swarming below. She didn’t know if they could make it up and into the vents, and she wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Grabbing the grate, she hoisted it up and over the entrance where it fell with a heavy clang. Her booted feet scrabbled for purchase against the slippery smooth metal before finding it and launching her off down the vents, practically flying towards the intersection where she twisted down into the right hand vent, then another left turn, then past another, heavier grate with a chain slinked through the holes which hung helpfully open, but not for long, as she tugged it down over her path and sealed it firmly. Then she turned and continued down the vents for a few more metres before tucking herself into the entrance to another pathway and leaning back, closing her eyes and breathing for the first time in what felt like years.

Ariana sat like that for what felt like hours, the silence in the vents, broken only by the occasional metallic creak and rush of air, trickled through her ears and into her brain like a drink of fresh, cooling water. Being jolted out of stealth like that was not only deeply unpleasant and painful, but also very dangerous. She’d been walking on the very edge of the cliff between the living world and a strange, unwaking and unsleeping realm, not quite alive but not quite dead either and she had almost fallen into it as quickly as she had fallen off the spear. Her insides felt cold and like they had been taken out and put back in but not quite in the right place. She felt _wrong_ , like pieces were missing, and she needed time to try and find them. And now that she was in the vents with two locked doors, an almost impossible to reach entrance and numerous turns and twists between her and the TEMPLARs, she finally felt a modicum of safety. Let them try and find her, they’d just get lost in the maze.

***

_Ariana, you have to move._

“No, five more minutes…”

_This isn’t a decadent afternoon cat nap you daft elf, this is you, stuck in a network of vents, being chased by a load of blighted mutants thirsty for your blood, now **get up!**_

It sounded like Dorian, speaking from inside her head. Ariana opened her eyes a crack, half expecting to see his indignant face staring down at her, but she was met with nothing. Just a flat metal wall and a few dust motes drifting through the air. Her stomach sank even further into her shoes and she closed her eyes again, head aching and muscles still sore from the numerous encounters with the TEMPLARs. Combine that with the fresh cuts from her blade and across her arms and collarbone where the bowstring had sliced through the thinner fabric of her form-fitting coat. She thanked any Gods that were listening that she’d at least had time to change out of her dress and into her fighting gear before the first strike, when Cullen had vanished to speak to the Witch. If she hadn’t then she would have been cut to ribbons by now for sure, the body armour concealed beneath her leggings and shirt helpfully protecting her from most of the battering. Apart from the obvious cuts she was merely covered in what promised to be a myriad of wonderfully dark bruises. She should count herself lucky, at least she hadn’t been stabbed yet.

Ouch, it was still too soon to be making comments like that.

The body armour was the one thing she was happy about keeping from her past. Everything else had been tossed into Drakon River and floated away with the rest of the filth being carried out of the city, but she’d kept the armour and a few other mementos. It had saved her life on several occasions and counting, and was exceptionally hard to replace. So she’d kept it and still wore it in open defiance of her past, still giving her satisfaction when an enemy tried to shoot her only to have the impact dissipate harmlessly across the fine but insanely strong weave. It was one of her most prized possessions, that and her bow.

Oh, shit, her bow!

Ariana thumped her head back on the vent and listened to the sound echo down the tunnels. That bow was the best weapon she’d ever had and looked amazing. And it was a relic of elvhen culture and she just fucking lost it, didn’t she. Just sliced through the bowstring and left it to be crumpled and broken in the hands of the Red TEMPLARs. Her pride at finally coming up with a name for them was dampened under the sad weight of losing her favourite weapon. Maybe Varric could get one of his Dwarven friends to make her another. It was a slightly comforting thought until she remembered she might not even see Varric again unless she could get out of the maze.

Going into the vents had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now she wasn’t so sure. Yes, she was out of the hall, but where would she go now? Up was going to be a problem, it’s not like there were handy stairs anywhere, the vents were hard enough to crawl through let alone climb up. And even if she got out the Red TEMPLARs were still inside, and not all of them had been trapped. And there was the small problem of the dragon which was still probably somewhere in the base. Even if she managed to escape this time, they’d just keep coming and coming until every last one of her friends was dead. Ariana would die before she let that happen.

_For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth who sees light and go toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The veil knows no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

The verse came unbidden into her mind, rising from a candlelit memory of sitting in a makeshift Chantry beside Cassandra and fighting the urge to scratch elven curses into the pews. She didn’t know why she remembered it, maybe it was because the prospect of death didn’t scare her as much as it should, or because she was so willing to sacrifice herself to save her friends. There were too many meaningless sacrifices in this world already, she didn’t want hers to be another. It was time to get up.

Ariana shifted, awkwardly shuffling until she was kneeling in the vent, her shoulders brushing the ceiling even as she hunched over and began crawling away from the junction she had been huddled in. Time to go to work. She knew what she had to do, held it in her mind like a glowing sign that led her further into the maze of vents, lighting her way through the dimness. She wouldn’t let Haven be taken, wouldn’t let a single one of the TEMPLARs escape to carry on carving a bloody wake through her friends. They’d made a terrible mistake, she thought grimly, eyes hard and fixed on her path, brow drawn low over her fiery gaze. They’d left her breathing and that was their undoing. As long as one of the Righteous still lived inside Haven, it would never truly be taken, and if she was going to die she was going to take them all with her.

What would Dorian say, she wondered as she crawled, if he knew what she was planning to do? Probably give her hell, not let her get a word in edgeways as he admonished her with biting words and sarcasm before stopping and turning sincere, quiet, begging her not to do it.

_“Tevinter lacks the presence of my best and only friend.”_

And soon Ferelden would as well, Ariana thought back, feeling guilty as soon as the words rose in her mind.

_“This is a terrible idea.”_

“Yes, I know,” Ariana sighed at the dust in front of her, rolling her eyes. “But I have to do it.” What would she do if the others were with her? Roll her eyes at the constant stream of complaining that would be issuing from Dorian’s mouth, probably.

 _“Oh, I see, so I should be delighted with our current predicament? A.k.a. crawling through filthy vents above legions of mutated creatures swarming over our former home?”_ Dorian retorted hotly inside her head. She could just hear the way his voice would sound, pitched slightly higher and muffled by the way he’d twist and glare at her.

“Oh it’s not that bad,” Ariana whispered to herself, squeezing around a corner of the vent.

 _“Ssh!”_ Imaginary Cassandra would hiss from the front, and turn awkwardly around to glare at them over her shoulder. _“Both of you, deal with it! It’s like being with a couple of children.”_

_“Yes, but we’re your children, and you love us.”_

_“Oh, you’re right Dorian, how silly of me to hate my brood of a Tevinter mage, a Seeker, two elves, Varric and whatever Cullen is,”_ she would mutter sarcastically back as she crawled through the vents _. “I should be more proud of my family.”_

Then there would be a muffled snort of laughter from the back of the team, before an whisper of _“Wait, what does she mean “whatever Cullen is”!?”_

Ariana snorted. She’d have to reassure him that it’s just because he had no formal allegiance to anyone, and so they didn’t know what to call him. Then he’d get a wrinkle between his eyes as he frowned and looked into the distance while he tried to work out if that was a good thing or not.

Fen’Harel’s knickers, she would miss them. Even Cullen, who she barely knew, and was an ex-TEMPLAR and a human to boot. She didn’t have anything against humans per say, just ones in authority. Outcasts, rebels, social pariahs, she could relate to them, any elf with their head screwed on right could, but humans who were complicit in this broken system of theirs? She had no idea what to do with them. It was the reason why she still felt a little uneasy about Cullen, but it was easy to see that he was starting to wake up and smell the social injustice.

“So, here we are,” she muttered to herself as she swivelled around so she was sitting on the edge of the sheer drop in front of her and reached into her back pocket to pull out a pair of leather gloves, the vent below disappearing into a rushing darkness. “Twenty-five years old and already planning to go out in a blaze of glory that probably no-one will see.” Her boots stuck to the sides of the vent as she slipped down, the flexible leather soles finding easy purchase on the smooth metal. Lowering herself even further, she bent one leg under herself and braced the other on the opposite side, hands reaching out to steady her descent. Slowly she edged herself down the vent.

“Oh well, it could have been worse, I suppose,” she continued to the empty air, breath coming out in hard puffs, the rush of cold air over her skin freezing the sweat into a fine sheen of chill on her skin. “Not… quite sure how but things could always be worse. I mean I could be like Solas, stuck in a cramped space surrounded by people I don’t really like and cut off from the rest of society…. Wow, self burn. Those are rare.”

She wasn’t sure that talking to herself wasn’t making things worse, but she hated the silence. But she couldn’t stand not having someone reply, so she was stuck in an unsettling state of anxiety, not wanting to talk but not wanting to be stuck in silence so loud she couldn’t hear anything else. She tried to put it out of her mind as she descended slowly and painstakingly down the vents, passing numerous levels on her way down to the very bottom. The vent junctions thinned out until only one or two marked each level, the air growing more cold, more still, the crushing feeling of the entire base above her pressing down on her mind and setting it on a razor’s edge.

Her foot struck something and the echoing clang shot through her like a bullet, making her jump and almost loose her footing. Twisting to look down, she saw a large piece of the vent jutting out from the wall, blocking her passage.

“Well that’s just…” Ariana grunted and awkwardly hauled herself up a few feet to the level she’d just passed, sliding in and kneeling on the edge, staring down into the abyss. “That’s just wonderful, isn’t it.” She sat back and heaved a large sigh that came all the way from her boots. Shifting around, she crawled down the vent, mentally mapping out where she must be. One level above the lowest, where the War Room and the self-destruct button where. Where she needed to be. There should be a stairwell leading down to it but she wasn’t feeling particularly good about her chances of not running into a pack of Red TEMPLARs if she tried to make a break for it. She scowled as she turned left, the vent creaking ominously behind her. Rust dotted the normally stainless walls and her scowl deepened from one of anger to fearful concern. There was a lot of degradation here. And judging by the way the metal kept creaking and shifting around her it wasn’t too good at holding her weight. Hopefully it wouldn’t-

A massive wrenching sound cut off her thoughts and before she could think to leap forwards, the floor gave way beneath her, hands and knees falling through empty air before she could even scream.

Ariana slammed onto the unforgiving ground, crying out as she felt the bones of her wrist crunch together underneath her. All the air rushed out of her and she rolled over, clutching her right arm to her chest and growling as white-hot pain shot through her, grating against her sprained bones and myriad of scrapes and bruises, eyes squeezed shut as if she could block out the pain through willpower alone.

Dust scattered over her face from the broken vent above her, jolting her out of her pain-laced reverie with its gentle whisper across her skin. Her eyes snapped open and she scrambled to her feet, hair, face and clothes covered in a smearing of dust and blood splatters, more blood seeping from a cut on her forehead and where she’d bitten into her lip as she landed, running down her forehead and chin in a grisly trail. The corridor she had landed in was washed in unrelenting red light, burning into her irises as she stumbled down it, one hand braced against the comfortingly solid concrete wall. She angrily rubbed away the blood sticking to her eyelashes as she walked, putting all her concentration into placing one foot in front of the other.

 _Just around one more corner_ , she reminded herself, eyes closing unconsciously, _you just have to get around one more corner and then you’ll be at the stairwell. This will all be over before you know it._

Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the wall and she pulled herself around the corner, palm sliding across the dented and cracked concrete as blind relief washed over her. She opened her eyes, a smile already lifting her face as she looked down the corridor towards the stairwell, and the small group of TEMPLARs standing in front of it.

Neither party reacted, staring at each other in shock, unable to process what was happening as Ariana froze just beyond the turn, one hand still gripping the wall so tightly she thought her gloves might tear apart. Silence screamed in the air between them, paralysing her where she stood, eyes wide and heart completely stilled. She had to breathe, her lungs were crying out to her, she had to take in a breath.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the world began spinning again and the silence was splintered and crushed underneath the cacophony of enraged shrieks and howls issuing from the TEMPLARs gaping mouths. Ariana couldn’t help herself, she screamed too, the terror finally breaking through the careful barrier she’d kept it behind and flooding over her, overwhelming her senses as it sliced over her skin, setting every inch of her on fire. Her feet acted on their own and she shot back around the corner, injuries forgotten as she tore down the corridor, head whipping back to stare with horrified eyes at the creatures careering after her, bodies slamming into the walls and almost trampling themselves in their haste.

 _You can’t run forever, Ariana!_ screamed a voice in her head as she raced down the hallway, _there’s only one entrance to the War Room, you have to go back!_

“NO!” she yelled, feet almost tangling around themselves as she lurched down another corridor in a vain effort to lose the creatures chasing her. She was fast, faster than any one of the Righteous, but she was tired and injured and bleeding from Mythal knew how many cuts and scrapes. She was running on empty, and the TEMPLARs were fuelled by their insatiable thirst for her blood. This was a chase she wouldn’t be able to win, there were no vents here, no handy spears or bulkheads to trap them behind. She had to face them head on if she wanted to end this.

She just didn’t know if she could. She had no bow, no arrows, nothing.

 _Nothing but your knives_ , the voice reminded her.

A jolt ran through Ariana’s body as she remembered, the knowledge clicking into her mind and filling her with fresh fire. She reached behind her back as she ran, gripping the handles of the two long, curved daggers she kept tucked securely out of sight underneath the harness that normally held her bow. They were still there. She drew them with a metallic swish that rang through the air and shivered down her body, reminding her of what she could do, who she was, what she was doing, sweeping away the blind terror in a wave of blazing courage. She could do this, she had to.

_Halam’shivanas, Mythal, guide me into the afterlife, ma hilana mir’din’an._

Ariana twisted on her heel, whipping around and facing the TEMPLARs, sprinting back down the corridor towards them before they could react. Her blades snapped out, the silverite edges gleaming in the flashing red light, slicing through the air as she raced forwards, eyes wild beneath a bloodied brow, hair in disarray and mouth wide in a terrifying war cry.

One arm raised up high, the other staying low, crossed over her chest as she kicked against the wall, launching herself into the air to slice down across the nearest TEMPLAR, blood splashing across her face in a hot spray. Tearing her blades free, she turned and buried one in the chest of the next, grating against his ribcage and sinking in all the way to the hilt. She wrenched it out, bending backwards and blocking a sword coming crashing down towards her face on the crossed blades. It brushed the end of her nose in a searing line, her vision momentarily focused only on the sword’s edge millimetres away from her eyes before she shoved upwards with all her might, pushing the assailant backwards and making him  stumble, giving her the opening she needed to slice up with her blades, carving through his exposed throat and severing tendons and windpipe easily before she kicked it back, sending the body crashing back into the one behind.

Her mind was on fire, setting her will ablaze with a single instinct that screamed at her senses, awareness prickling over her skin as she moved in ever-changing circles, dodging every attack easily, knives spinning out to slice against flesh, metal, stone, anything that came at her. She was a blur of blood and silver, alternating slashes with quick stabs and kicks, not breaking for a second to let even one attack get through.

Another TEMPLAR came at her from behind, her awareness crying out a millisecond before he grabbed her, making her drop down low and roll backwards through his open legs, cutting a wide arc across the exposed flesh on the backs of his ankles as she landed, spinning back round to the front and placing the hilts of her daggers on the floor as he fell, impaling himself on the blades. She kicked his body over and tugged them free, ducking as another sword swung towards her, slicing through the attacker’s unarmoured armpits and cutting through the thick muscles, the sword dropping from now useless fingers, the clang echoing down the hallway as she reached across and buried her blade in the soldier’s kidneys, making her crumple to the floor like a broken toy.

Only two TEMPLARs remained, backing down the hallway away from the pile of bodies between them and the blood soaked elf. She grinned, baring her teeth at them and laughing to see them falter slightly. Easy pickings. She rushed towards them, using the body of a TEMPLAR to leap into the air above them, blades raised high over her head, slicing down straight down the thin fabric bindings around the head of the left TEMPLAR, the loud screech of pain and feel of bone scrapping on the tips of the blades only spurring her on, cutting across the soldier’s chest as she spun, flicking her blades in her hands to hold them more securely, bringing them up the body of the last TEMPLAR, carving two crossing lines of red all the way from where his chestplate met his belt, the momentum carrying the silverite blades easily up through the cracked armour, tearing across his heart and the muscles on his shoulders. One more deep slash across his throat, and he fell at her feet, blood pooling around her shoes in a hot sea of red.

Ariana’s breathed huffed out of her, the last embers of adrenaline coursing through her veins before fading and making her stumble into the wall, clinging to the concrete to stop herself from falling. Her clothes were soaked in a grisly mixture of blood and viscera, the heat seeping through her body armour to her skin beneath. She felt sick, dizzy, her vision clouding as she leaned back, resting her head against the wall and gazing at the carnage around her. Her mind was dark, quiet, filled with only one thought that made her straighten, swaying slightly before taking a few steps back down the hallway.

She had to get to the button.

***

The War Room was dark, free from the flashing red lights that permeated the rest of the base. The blaring alarms from above were barely audible down here, everything seeming as it should be, nothing in the wide room out of place. The maps on the War Table were undisturbed, the pale white light hanging above it flickering only slightly, the mugs of coffee still cooling where they had been left.

Ariana stood at the entrance, staring at the scene in front of her. It was almost unreal, it was so untouched by anything that had happened in the chaos before. It felt wrong, like she was missing something important. But she didn’t have the time to stop and think. She had to get moving. Setting her mouth into a grim line, she swallowed her fear and stepped into the room, the sound of her shoe hitting the floor sending a low, whispered echo running around the walls and curling around the pillars. She paused, unease settling heavily in the pit of her stomach like a rock, before she took another step and began walking slowly towards the other end of the room where she knew the button lay.

She passed the War Table, her hand reaching out and brushing against the slightly curled edge of the maps, the dust from the ceiling that coated the surface the only sign that something had happened. Her blood rushed in her ears, making her breathing come out shallow and ragged, sweat beading across her brow and tickling the back of her neck like clammy fingers. She shot a quick look behind her, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

The book that lay on top of the maps caught her eye and she moved around the table, leaning over it like she’d seen Oryn do so many times. Was her ghost here, bound to Haven and her duty to protect her people, no matter the cost? Once this place was destroyed would her spirit be able to find peace? Ariana doubted it. There was no peace in this world.

The symbol of a large eye embossed the leather cover of the book, a sword sticking through it and a ring of fire circling the lids like lashes, the blank iris staring into her own as she gazed down at it. Whatever this book was, it was clearly extremely old. The leather binding was frayed on the edges, the yellowing pages dotted with dark brown spots of either age or blood. Her fingers reached out of their own accord and she opened it, the papery whisper of the pages shifting making her heart skip a beat. It fell open to a page that had obviously been read over and over again, the seams worn and flopping open easily.

_We shall be the arm of the Righteous_

_We are the Blade in the dark_

_We shall protect those who cannot protect themselves,_

_We alone shall rise up against evil_

_We walk the path alone_

_We make the final sacrifice_

Ariana’s heart sank as her eyes skimmed over the words, the lines broken only by a cut in the paper, almost as if a knife had been driven through the last two words. She never understood why Oryn was always so willing to protect others over herself, to be completely selfless, but after reading that she felt like she could understand. Almost.

She turned away from the book, feeling sick. She needed to finish this before anyone else died. Oryn wouldn’t have died in vain, she wouldn’t allow it. She would make the final sacrifice, like the book said, it was the least she could do.

“First day, they come and catch everyone.”

The gently murmured voice tore through Ariana like a knife, making her jump. Ice cold fear washed over her again, goosebumps raising on her skin as she whirled around, trying to find the source of the noise. It sounded like a woman’s voice.

“Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.”

She couldn’t see anyone, the room was so dim, her eyes straining desperately against the darkness as her heart pounded against her ribcage.

“Third day, we wait and fear for our fate.”

“Who’s there!” Ariana yelled, unable to stand the soft voice anymore. It grated against her mind like the words were being screamed and not whispered.

There was a short pause, and Ariana thought for a second that she might be going crazy, that maybe there wasn’t someone there after all, that she was just hearing things, but then it came back, words creeping up on her and making her spin around again.

“Fourth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn.”

Ariana backed up into the table, the edge pressing into her thighs as she leaned back, clutching it like it was an anchor. “Stop it!” she yelled, voice breaking as panic started to pull at the corners of her mind.

“Fifth day, her screams we hear in our dreams,” the voice continued relentlessly. “Sixth day she grew as in her mouth they spew, seventh day, we hated as she is violated, eighth day, she grins and devours her kin.”

Tears rose unbidden in Ariana’s eyes as the voice ebbed out. This wasn’t like anything she’d ever been through before, the voice was so calm but so harsh, merciless in its insane rhyming through the darkness. She hated unseen enemies, hated not knowing what she was up against, hated feeling so vulnerable and powerless.

“Tell me who you are!” she screamed at the shadows.

“Now... she does feast, as she’s become the beast.” The voice changed from an emotionless whisper to a rasping hiss, filled with hate and rage, stabbing at her ears and mind. “Now you lay and wait, for my screams will haunt you in your dreams.”

And with that, the voice was gone, fading into icy silence and leaving Ariana alone, still clutching the side of the table as tears rolled down her face. She tore off her gloves and pressed a hand against her mouth in an effort to stifle the sobs but she couldn’t, the shock of what had happened since she had returned to Haven finally settling over her, smothering her mercilessly. Her choked sobs bounced off the walls and pillars, her eyes still wide and fixed on the floor in front of her, paralysed by fear. Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she breathe? Wrenching her hand away from her mouth, she gulped in lungfuls of air, rattling against her clenched windpipe.  Finally, she regained some semblance of calmness, just as she heard another footstep in the dark.

Ariana’s heart stopped. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even think. Her eyes darted around the room, her fingers easing off the table as she stood, taking a silent step forwards and entering the shadows. There was someone else there but it wasn’t like before, they weren’t moving. They knew she could hear them, they must do. They saw her stepping away from the table as soon as she heard their steps. Ariana swivelled around carefully, using all her senses to try and seek out the person in the room with her.

A silhouette standing in the distance caught her eye, slamming into her vision as if they were jumping up and down, waving their arms and yelling. They were standing perfectly still, just watching her. It looked like they were wearing a hood, and held no weapons, but it was hard to tell, she kept losing sight of them in the shroud of darkness that lay between them. It was like trying to keep focused on something at the depths of the ocean.

“Hello?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was no reply, but she thought the person tilted their head to the side slightly.

“Are you trapped here?” It could be a survivor, she thought, too scared to leave the safety of the War Room.

Again, no reply. Then a whispered voice issued through the air towards her, as gentle as a summer breeze.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

Lightning sparked through Ariana’s brain and she took a step back, stumbling slightly. She knew that voice, it was the same as earlier, but there was no hatred, just…. Emptiness. Sadness. “Who are you?” she breathed, her heart pounding fast and shallow against her ribcage.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow,” the voice replied hollowly. “In their blood the Maker’s will is written.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ariana demanded, her raised voice breaking the spell lying over her, anger flaring in her eyes. The figure stepped back, sinking even further into the shadows.

“I… I am so sorry.”

The words curled around Ariana’s ears and she shook her head. “What? I don’t… Wait!” It was too late, the figure was gone, swallowed up by the shadows. Ariana ran her hands through her hair, breathing heavily. What in the name of Fen’Harel was happening to her? Was she truly going mad? Was there even anyone there in the first place?

A soft skittering noise invaded her mind just before something tapped against her boot, coming to a halt at her feet.

Ariana looked down, frowning. A ball lay at her feet, its black surface etched in hundreds of delicate lines that waved over its surface, making it almost look alive in the flickering light. It was so out of place here, she didn’t even think to not touch it. Her hand stretched out to pick it up, drawn to its smooth surface like a magnet, its presence tugging at her mind like a silver thread, begging her to touch it. Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind a voice cried out, telling her to not be so stupid, but it was just a ball, why couldn’t she pick it up?

The bare skin of her fingertips brushed the surface of the ball, and then the entire world was torn apart. Blazes of green light stabbed into every orifice, every crevice, every inch of her, tearing her body, her mind, her soul apart from the inside out. Her knees slammed against the ground and a loud screaming ripped against her ears, the blinding light grinding against her bone and wrenching her veins apart, surrounding her muscles before dissolving them in a thunderous burst of light. She wasn’t Ariana anymore, she wasn’t a person, she was a being of pure light, her physical form completely destroyed in an unrelenting blaze of brilliance. All the world was agony, chaos, screaming confusion that split her consciousness apart with the black orb at the centre, the only thing that she was still aware of, sticking to what had once been her left hand but was now a dazzling blaze of green light.

And just as quickly as it had started, it was over.

Ariana collapsed, the ball rolling out of her limp hand and into the shadows again, disappearing into the darkness as if it had never existed. Shudders ran through her entire body, catching her bones and organs and grinding them together, making her groan. Fresh blood trickled down her burning face, but from what she couldn’t tell. Rolling shakily over, the cold concrete seeping through her clothes and into her back, weighing her down, reminding her where she was. She needed to get up, she needed to get to the button, Mythal preserve her, she needed all of this to be fucking _over._

Another loud groan issuing from her mouth, she stumbled to her knees, breathing raggedly as she leaned over, recovering her senses for a moment. What in the name of every fucking God in Elvhenan _was that_? It looked like a ball, a normal, innocent, albiet a little out of place _ball_ , nothing special. Yet when she touched it… Ariana shivered, trying not to think about it as bile rose in her throat. _Come on, keep it together, it’s almost over._

She was so out of it she didn’t even notice the low growls and hisses behind her until it was too late. Spinning around, Ariana saw dozens of red TEMPLARs surrounding her, foul stench of rotting flesh and old blood filling her nostrils. What mouths she could see were clenched in ferocious growls, ruined teeth bared and covered in a sick mess of drool and viscera, glowing red eyes fixed on her like laser beams searing into her soul. They spat and snarled at her from where they massed on every side of the room, cutting off her exit and pushing her against the back wall with their painfully slow and steady advance.

Ariana’s back hit the wall with a thud and her hands automatically reached out to press flat against it as if she could seep into the concrete and disappear forever. Breath rushed out of her in shallow, desperate gasps, eyes wide and unblinking as she stared helplessly at the TEMPLARs. This was it, she had no escape, they’d been drawn to her and the scent of blood like moths to a flame. How could she have been so stupid? To think that she’d be able to do this, take them all down with a stupid kill switch that she couldn’t even reach. She could see it, just out of reach on her left, the rusty metal box on the wall flung open with the switch tauntingly on display. She was so close to it but couldn’t reach out and press it before the TEMPLARs would grab her and tear her limb from limb. She could almost feel their breath on her face, their claws against her skin, cutting and carving and slicing and ripping her apart. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head to the side, unable to look at the faces of the monsters any longer. She had failed.

“Enough!”

A burst of hot air crashed into her, dust and debris flying into her face and forcing her eyes open. What she saw in the midst of the parted TEMPLARs was impossible. A man, or what had used to be a man, shoulders encased in plates of black bone, red lyrium sprouting from his wrecked flesh that pulled and twisted sickeningly around the extrusions. His eyes blazed like twin fires from underneath his heavy brow, skin sagging in deep furrows around them and casting his face into dancing shadows. Ariana’s eyes moved unwillingly down, unable to tear themselves away from this monstrous figure looming before her. More red lyrium glistened and glowed from his dilapidated body, flesh torn open and skin pulled tight over it like leather. He was huge, massive, his face glaring down from at least 3 foot above her, rocky spikes brushing the ceiling with low scratches that caused her flesh to shudder and goosebumps tickle uncomfortably up her arms. Behind him stood a shadowy figure, shorter and withdrawn into the mass of the TEMPLARs, eyes hidden below their dark hood.

“Elven scum, you toy with forces beyond you ken,” the creature said in a voice so deep it felt like an earthquake rising up from the bowels of the earth, rattling her bones. “No more.”

“What are you?” The whispered words spilled from Ariana’s terrified lips before she could stop them, hanging in the air in an obscene act of defiance. “Why are you doing this?”

The monster’s eyes narrowed, causing a wave of fresh white-hot fear to run over her. “Mortals beg for truth they cannot have,” he intoned, lips pulled back into a snarl, clawed hand raised as if to snatch her words out the dust that floated around them. “It is beyond what you are, what _I_ was.” His face lowered until it was directly above hers, forcing her to lift her chin to stare up at the creature filling her vision. She could see every vein, every crack on the stone, every line on his terrifying face and she was helpless in his gaze, unable to do anything except stare at her death.

“Know me,” he hissed, “know what mortals would pretend to be. Exalt the Elder One, the _will_ that is…. _Corypheus_.”

The last word was snarled, ancient anger and rage rising up behind it and stabbing into her. She had to say something, she had to prove she wasn’t afraid, prove that whatever he was that she would not let him win.

“What…. Whatever you are, I’m not afraid!” She didn’t mean to yell the words, but they rushed out of her, a tiny flicker of courage lighting her mind as she saw Corypheus falter, standing up to lean back and observe her with open hatred in his crimson eyes.

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness.” Chin raised, he stared coolly down at the elf before him, glaring at him with fire in her silver eyes. “Once they were mine. They are always lies.” He surged forwards, grabbing her throat and dragging her up the wall, claws digging into her flesh hard enough to draw blood. “You will kneel before me!”

A choked gasp escaped Ariana’s lungs as he drove his claws into her throat harder, but she refused to look away, refused to drop her eyes and admit defeat. “You’ll get nothing out of me!” she snarled, spitting the blood from her mouth straight into his face. She grinned as he growled at her, enraged at the tiny, battered and beaten elf with blood running down her face refusing to be afraid.

Corypheus’ eyes grew even darker as he stared her down, scarlet meeting silver in an incandescent battle of wills. “You will resist,” he hissed. “You will always resist. It matters not.”

Ariana yelled out as his other hand raised to grab her left arm and slam it into the wall hard enough to crack both bone and concrete. The pangs of pain still ebbing through her from the orb’s onslaught rose up again, screaming against her body and the fresh agony from Corypheus’ claws around her neck and wrist. Her head rolled to the side, tear soaked eyes fixed on the switch beside her. Still so close. Fate had certainly dealt her a cruel hand, to allow her to get all this way and cheat death so many times, only to wrench her back at the last second when the endpoint was in sight. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she closed her eyes, unable to look at her failure any more.

“You are nothing but a mistake, no more than an ant before me, yet you act like you can defy me,” came the taunting growls from in front of her. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

The final words sank into Ariana’s mind, bouncing around her brain in deep echoes. Her eyes opened slowly, an eerie sense of calm washing over her as she turned to face Corypheus. She knew his mistake, knew it as soon as he told her he was going to kill her. It was a poor choice of words, when would her enemies learn never to tell her that they planned to destroy her? It just made her stronger. Like Dorian kept telling her, she was always so contrary, always so quick to go against her instincts just to prove someone wrong. A deadly smile crept across her face and she stared at Corypheus from beneath a lowered brow, the force of her gaze driving into him and making the hand around her neck twitch.

“Your arrogance blinds you,” she spat mockingly. “Good to know.” Before he could reply Ariana gathered the last of her strength and kicked out with all her might, boots colliding with his waist and connecting with a satisfying _crack_. The hands around her vanished and she fell heavily to the ground, not wasting a moment on the impact jarring through her and darting to the switch on the wall. As her fingers scrabbled against the button, she shot a look over her shoulder, seeing Corypheus moving towards her with death in his eyes. _Let him come_ , she thought, _he’ll never take me._

“If I’m dying, I’m taking you with me!” Ariana screamed and slammed her hand down onto the button.

The moment froze them, Corypheus with his hand outstretched, claws brushing the back of her coat, Ariana with her hand still pressed on the button, TEMPLARs racing towards them both, the hooded figure in the middle with their hand reached out towards Corypheus, smoking crimson magic gathered in their palm. It was almost as if nothing had happened, as if the button was nothing more than an empty promise, but then-

Ariana was flung to the ground by a massive quake rolling up the base, pillars cracking and splintering apart from the force of the explosion. Another slammed into them, her vision blinded by the dust and smoke rising into the air from all around her, cutting her off from the monsters behind a thick wall of grey clouds. Chunks of rock fell to the ground, missing her by inches. She rolled to the side just in time, a huge piece of the ceiling crashing down, flecks of rock hurling into her face. The floor cracked beneath her fingers, deafening and thunderous booms slamming into all of her senses.

 _This is it, this is how I’m going to die,_ the thought dimly flashing through her as she crawled mindlessly forwards, driven by pure instinct alone. _At least I did well._

Ariana collapsed to the still shaking floor, rolling onto her back and staring at the clouds of grit above her. _I think I did well,_ she mused absentmindedly to herself as the clouds drifted apart for a second, letting her glimpse the piece of ceiling with fissures running all over it, ready to fall onto her. _Yeah, I did well,_ she thought as she watched it break off, plummeting towards the ground. She closed her eyes, waiting calmly for death. _Ma ghilana mir din’an_. _I’m going to the hearts of our Ancestors, guide me into death._

And then she was falling. She wasn’t supposed to be falling. Eyes snapping open, Ariana saw the War Room vanish above her, disappearing as she was swallowed up by the void that had suddenly opened underneath her, cracked open by the falling rock. She opened her mouth to scream, but then something impossibly hard and cold collided with the back of her head, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, let me know in the comments, or feel free to leave a kudos!


	12. Find a Way Forwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much shorter chapter this time, enjoy!

Had she’d called out before it all ended? As the ground gave way underneath her, and the cruel eyes of a demon god watched her fall at one moment, then watched the building crashing down around them in an avalanche of dust and stone that would bury them both in the next, had she’d cried out for them? She wasn’t even sure why, they were long gone to safety. None of them even knew what she’d been planning to do, didn’t even know why she might not return to them. Would anyone even be able to find her body afterwards? Or would she be left to rot in this empty void, forgotten for centuries, her flesh dissolving around bones that would turn to dust and then merely a distant memory. Perhaps with magic they’d be able to sense her crushed, broken body beneath the rubble that had once been their Haven. It had been her home, they her family, but why… why couldn’t she remember any of their names? She was Ariana, she’d forgotten that for a moment. Ariana the elf. Ariana the rogue. Ariana the Dalish. Ariana the archer. Ariana the one trapped in this unknowing abyss.

Would her body be returned to her clan? Would they mourn her, weep and sing for days on end like she’d seen them do for countless others before her, their once shiny toy soldiers coming back rusted, battered and broken from their own little wars. Or would they merely frown and turn away, casting her aside one last time. No, that wasn’t right… Her clan was gone, she mourned them not the other way around. Would she see them now it was all over?

Wait…. That wasn’t right.

It wasn’t over. Not for her at least, not yet. She thought it was, her soul straining to be free and rush into the abyss, but it had held back, clinging to her with ghostly tendrils and keeping life ebbing through her.

It wasn’t over.

Stale air rushed into her lungs, forcing itself down her throat and scraping against the sides, burning her from the inside out. Coughing and choking, her body convulsed blindly, fingers scrabbling at loose dirt and legs kicking out as if to drive the pain away. Another gust of air invaded her and washed her mind into soothing tones of blurry grey, another and black shadow and white light began trickling through the veil, one more and sepia tones blossomed in the depths, waking her from her slumber.

Cracking open her eyelids a millimetre, she peered through the blurred forest of her eyelashes, still sticky with dried blood. Luminescent light filtered into her eyes, burning dots into her vision and making her wince and turn her head, her cheek pressing roughly into what felt like frozen loose rocks and stone. But like a siren’s call, she couldn’t resist opening her eyes to look at the lights again, it felt like an age since she’d last seen light that pure, that bright. Turning her face back to the sky, she opened her eyes.

_Pantheon preserve me, I’m in Arlathan._

Above her floated an entire galaxy of glowing lights, thousands of them spreading out above her as far as she could see, blues and greens swirling together in an inky sky to create nebulas so beautiful a tear rose and broke over the dam of her eyelid, rolling down her skin to drop and shatter like a diamond on the rock beneath her. She blinked, her vision sharpening to let her see that it wasn’t a galaxy above her, it was millions of crystals that gleamed and shone from where they jutted out of the stone ceiling that soared miles above her. Water dripped down into ancient puddles, the perfect reflections of the galaxy above fracturing and splintering into tiny ripples with each tiny droplet, the pure sound ringing around her like silver bells.

Ariana’s head dropped to the side and she caught sight of a hall of pillars stretching out next to her, disappearing into musty darkness and clouds of gently swirling dust that drifted lazily around them. Their surfaces were intricately carved, images of trees and halla and wondrous beings with arms outstretched and bows raised, twisting and ascending gracefully to spread across the ceiling like massive tree roots, as if they’d grown from the very rock itself. Each one was massive, storeys upon storeys high, yet every inch was covered in elaborate sculptures and carvings. The sheer scale of them made Ariana’s stomach twist, reminding her how tiny she was, how easily crushed she could be if a single piece were to fall on her insignificant form.

It was time to get up. She couldn’t remember why, but instinct was tugging her to stand, to get moving, to go _somewhere_. And she was powerless against it.

Her boots scrapped against the wet stone as she stumbled awkwardly to her feet, head spinning from where it had cracked against a rock. She took a few experimental steps, eyes blinking rapidly as she began moving methodically. She had to get out, she had to find a way forwards.

How had she got here? And how had she survived falling all the way down into the depths of the earth with nothing more than a concussion? Glancing up, she could barely see the crack in the stone where the falling debris had crashed through, taking her with it. And why was her hand and face hurting so much? She groaned and rubbed it over her face, gasping in pain as she felt a spark of flame burst over her forehead. Snatching her hand away, her eyes widened as she saw the long, glowing jagged scar across her palm. Bright green and sparking with arcane power, each burst of light sent shooting pains up her arm and over her entire body like a lightning bolt.

Oh, right. The orb. She’d forgotten all about that.

Elgar’nan did her face ache. Like a fresh bruise or a newly healed scar, still sensitive to the touch with pain shooting dully across her skin whenever she moved. It felt like when she’d first got her vallaslin. How honoured had she been that day, she thought as she started moving dumbly down the jagged rock pathway. How she had been chosen as one of the grown protectors of the clan, ready to go out into the world and work for the clan’s respect, make a name for them. They’d told her June would be her patron God, recognising her craft not just with making her own daggers, still faithfully strapped to her back, but her artistry on the battle field. She was a natural, they said, she would be the best protector they had. They were right about one thing, she mused. She was a natural killer, but she was no protector. Not for them at least.

Tears bubbled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks freely, but Ariana barely noticed. She was too wrapped up in memories to acknowledge them. The salty pathways they left on her skin began to crystallise into tiny beads of frost, but she still couldn’t stop them falling. Her face began to burn against the coldness and she blinked, the ice gathering on her wet eyelashes falling like glittering dust as she looked up at the glowing symphony of starlight above her.

 _Where are you going?_ They seemed to ask her, _what are you doing?_

 _I don’t know_ , she answered tiredly, dropping her gaze and wrapping her arms around herself, her muscles stiff and awkward. _I never know_.

Her feet stumbled along the wide pathway she was following, the paved stone uneven and one wonderful carvings cracked and worn away. The only indication that she was still on the road were two slightly raised lines running parallel and either side of her, stone leaves and flowers still visible on the dark stone. The splash of her boots against the puddles echoed across the chamber, dancing in the cold crevices and cracked stone like a strange, inhuman harmony, mingling with the soft tinkling of dripping water and steady rushing of a distant stream. It was so peaceful, but so cold, so dead. So lost, Ariana thought, the yearning for living people hanging bitterly in the air and driving into her with its relentless longing. People belonged here, wonderful people, grand and marvellous artisans and nobles and scholars and scientists and merchants and commoners and generations upon generations of _people_. This wasn’t a place that was meant to be empty. This was a place that was alive and needed company, the obscene loudness of the lack of voices made Ariana’s skin prickle uncomfortably.

Maybe if she ever found a way out she would bring Solas here, he’d like that. She smiled just thinking of the quiet and calm elf suddenly finding himself surrounded by a lost world filled with everything his heart and brilliant mind could dream up. He’d be like a child, she thought, skipping around the pillars and exclaiming at everything he saw.

She missed him, she realised. There was a gaping hole that had been opened years prior and never sealed up properly no matter how hard she tried, still tugging on the depths of her heart after all this time. She thought she’d managed to fix it, but seeing him again in the University it was like no time had passed and she was five years younger and watching him with narrowed eyes, suspicious of this strange elven mage she’d been told to make contact with, hating the way he spoke to her in such gentle tones as if he didn’t know what she was. But he did, and he never held it against her, never rose his voice when she didn’t understand something or came to him bloodied and bruised from a fight, never saw her as anything but Ariana. How long had they known each other until she loved him? Weeks? Months? Or just hours, she couldn’t tell. Sometimes when the connection is pure enough it was impossible to tell, looking back you realise you always loved the other person, it was there the whole time and you were unable to live another way. Was it like that?

Ariana frowned, stepping stiffly over a particularly high bit of paving stone. Her hand gripped the rough edges and the pain of the strange green mark pulsed indignantly. No, it wasn’t like that, she thought. He was infuriating, he always would be, but she hadn’t loved him from the start. She wasn’t sure if she ever really loved him at all.

Her feet stopped automatically before she pitched headfirst down the crevice that had risen up before her and Ariana started, skipping back a few steps. _Ah, shouldn’t have done that_ , she observed as her head span. Leaning over and blinking heavily, the shock seemed to jolt some of the cobwebs off her mind and she began to really take in her surroundings. Fen’Harel’s arse it was cold… Sure she’d noticed the teardrops and sweat beads freezing slowly and gently on her face but she hadn’t really registered it until now. But now that she had, she couldn’t escape the coldness surrounding her, pressing against her skin and lips like a smothering blanket.

Ripping the tail off her coat, she wound the fabric round her face and eyes, leaving only a tiny opening for her to see out of. That worked, she could concentrate on her surroundings and look where she was going. Or at least she could if she wasn’t caught in a hall of shadows broken only by the ethereal gleam drifting down from the galaxy above her and strange waving blue tendrils of light that rose from the crevice in front of her. She shuffled towards it, boots unsettlingly slippery on the damp, smooth stone. A few loose pebbles skittered over the side and tumbled down the ravine as she leaned over and peered into it. At the very bottom she could see an ancient river, or stream, the light rising presumably from the same crystals that lay in its crystal-clear depths. She couldn’t tell how deep the crevice was but she wasn’t too keen on finding out.

Waves of cold air rose up from the water and burned against her eyes and Ariana stepped back. Well at least she knew why it was so cold down here now. She must be miles beneath the surface and judging by the drips and faint rushing sound, surrounded by freezing cold water. All in all, it didn’t make for nice weather for a stroll through the catacombs, Ariana thought. The awe-inspiring effect of the grand hall was ebbing away in the frosty air, making her shiver both inwardly and outwardly as she tried to find a way across the crevice.

Luck, it appeared, was finally on her side. The further to her left she moved, the narrower the ravine became until it was a crack about a foot across. She’d moved off the road, the rocks far more uneven here as if the paving stones had been lifted up and destroyed. Strange… Still, she wasn’t going to linger and dwell on underground archaeology. Stepping across, she continued on her rambling stroll through the ruins.

As she walked, the hall began to narrow, the outer walls finally becoming visible in the gloom. Massive stone carvings dotted the stone like mosaics, depictions of graceful beings with pointed ears and intricate clothes rising against the darkness. Elves… Ariana didn’t think elves built underground, but maybe in the ancient times they did. It wasn’t like she was an expert on the ancient elves, nobody was. Well, except maybe Solas, but he was such a prick about it she didn’t really count him.

Against her better judgement, Ariana limped over to look at the closest mosaic, running over hand lightly over the stone, waves of dust drifting up and throwing the carvings into more sharp relief. Craning her head back, the mosaic stretched up high above her, possibly even to the ceiling, she couldn’t see. Scowling in disappointment, she turned back to the ones she could actually see the details of. The carvings closest to her seemed to be depicting a tall woman with her hands outstretched, the branches of a great tree spreading behind her as if growing from her body. On her brow she wore a pointed crown, the centre steeple lying across her forehead and reaching almost down to her nose. Her cheekbones accentuated with more points, giving her a regal appearance, increased by the grandeur of her complicated and intricate outfit, a cape of feathers pooling around her like a great bird lying at her feet.

Surrounding her were more simply carved outlines of smaller elves in rough clothes, all on their knees with hands raised in praise. On their faces were the markings of Mythal, and it dawned on Ariana that this ethereal, regal being _was_ Mythal as she must have looked in the ancient times of Arlathan. And if this image was accurate, then it meant that this place was from the days before the Fall. Who knew how many more secrets these carvings held?

Running her fingers across the stone’s dips and bumps, Ariana walked slowly along the carving, her mouth open in fascination. She passed more depictions of the Gods; June, strange tools in his hands and a wheel of bows and knives and staffs surrounding him like the sun’s rays, Andruil, her chin held high with an unforgiving expression on her face, a halla with a single arrow in its heart lying at her feet, a shadowy figure with face hidden beneath a low hood that she took to be Dirthamen, stylised shadows creeping out from his long cloak like tattered wings. In his hand he held a key and in the other a padlock and on his shoulders sat identical ravens, their stone eyes seeming to gleam wickedly at Ariana even in the low light. She quickly moved on from that one, feeling a little sick.

She walked past more images of the Gods, eyes riveted on each one but also the elves surrounding them. It was only when she’d almost reached the last carving when she realised that the thin threads weaving along the bottom of the kneeling figures that she’d taken for vines were actually chains, binding them to the ground and away from the noble figures standing over them. And on all of their faces were vallaslin, matching each God that oversaw their kneeling prayers. Concern prickled on the back of her neck but she ignored it. She didn’t have the time or knowledge to dwell on what that meant. She turned away, her eyes moving quickly to focus on the next God, but unease rolled in her stomach and pulled uncomfortably at the dull ache that ran along her face on the lines of her vallaslin.

Ariana reached the last panel of the mosaic and stopped, staring at it with wide, bemused eyes. This was one God she hadn’t expected to find on a mosaic obviously honouring the Pantheon. With his wicked grin and challenging, predatory stare that bored into her, this could only be one God.

“Fen’Harel,” she whispered, her hand dropping to her side heavily as she stared, unable to rip her eyes away. A cold breeze washed over her exposed skin as if in answer and she shivered, eyes still riveted on the stone gaze of the God before her. Something about him seemed so familiar, but every time she tried to grasp it it flitted away, dissolving through her fingers like smoke. On his forehead sat a small skull, delicate chains hanging down from it and lying across his brow and brushing on his cheekbones like cobwebs. His dreadlocked hair was bound up high on his head before draping haphazardly across his shoulders and neck, giving him an almost wild look. A wolf pelt lay across his shoulders and his clothes were different, although still magnificent, from the other Gods’. He wore no heavy robes, no regal cloak, just a form-fitting tunic of intricate armour that wrapped around him like layers of leaves or feathers, criss-crossing all over his torso before running down the sides of his legs and breaking into tiny sections of armour on his calves and ankles. No symbolic items were held in his hands, just a simple object that had long since worn away clasped close to his chest, the carved beams still present across his torso. Whatever it was, it must have been very important to the God.

Ariana’s eyes moved automatically to the elves at his feet, but there was something different about them. There were far fewer around Fen’Harel than the other Gods, and their hands were not clasped in prayer, heads not lowered in reverence. Instead, their hands were raised as if in celebration or thanks, faces upturned to the God above them. But what really made her mind spin in surprise was the lack of chains around them. She narrowed her eyes, peering closer at the fractured lines at Fen’Harel’s feet. Her mouth dropped even further open behind the fabric as she saw that they _were_ the chains that had held the elves in the other carvings.

What the hell did this even mean? Her head was swimming with questions and confusion, unable to process that not only had the feared and hated Dread Wolf was being honoured with the rest of the Pantheon, but that the mortal elves around him didn’t seem to be scared but rather praise him the same as any other God. And what did the broken chains mean? Was Fen’Harel more than what the Dalish knew about him from ancient stories passed down through generations? After all, meanings can change, mistakes can happen, maybe the Dread Wolf wasn’t what they thought-

No. She couldn’t think about that now. Oh, she would think about it later alright, no doubt about it. When she got out of here she would quite happily spend hours poring over texts on Elven history and religion, but not now. Right now she needed to focus on finding a way back to the surface.

Anyway, she thought with a wry smile as she moved away from the mosaic and the stone eyes of the God that seemed to blaze through the darkness, if you thought about the Dread Wolf too much then he took it to mean that he was invited into your mind, and you’d be plagued with thoughts of Fen’Harel for the rest of your days. Everyone knew that.

The hall had narrowed to almost a point now, a wide and predictably elaborate archway marking the entrance set into the high flat wall at the end. Hope flared up in Ariana’s mind like a golden fire and her steps quickened, a smile spreading across her face as she passed through the archway, the rushing emptiness of the hall swallowed up as she moved into a narrower, but still ridiculously wide and hopelessly long, corridor with large, imposing statues lining the walls. The ceiling was lower here too, but the glowing crystal infestation remained in weaving patterns above her.

What a kind of a day has it been, she mused as she started down the hallway, trying to ignore the intimidating statues of warriors and scholars and more Gods surrounding her. First, she had to go on an errand with a Shem- Cullen. She had to stop thinking of him as Shemlan first, TEMPLAR second, and person last of all. Then she had to talk to Solas again for the first time in five years, that was pleasant. Then Haven had come under attack and she’d had to fight for her life all the way to the bulkheads which she was then trapped behind, then she had to crawl through vents, then she had to fight _more_ red TEMPLARs, then she’d been scared almost senseless by some weird rhyming woman who had just disappeared in the depths of Haven, then she’d almost been blown apart by some weird black orb, and then she’d met a fucking _demon God_ who was hopefully now crushed underneath the entirety of Haven that she’d destroyed.

When she had woken up that morning, if someone had told her that’s what she’d spend the day doing she would have been at the very least sceptical.

 

And after all of that, she’d still didn’t have a clue as to what the self-proclaimed Elder One was after. All she knew was that he was definitely crazy mixed with an unhealthy amount of lunacy. What did he want from them? His speeches were platitudes, they made no sense when she tried to string her wavering memories together into a cohesive unit. From what she could gather from it was that he seemed to really, really hate the Righteous, and presumably the Wardens as well.

Well that was just rude. They were lovely criminals once you got to know them, the type of thugs you’d be proud to bring home to meet the family.

A snort escaped her, laughter bubbling out of her mouth before she could stop it. It was too loud, too high, she couldn’t make herself stop. She only managed to quieten it by pressing her hands against her mouth, her chest heaving rapidly. Her mind was spinning like a top, lights and colours flashing in front of her eyes every time she blinked. She couldn’t catch her breath, her lungs still wheezing and heart pounding wildly from that strange bout of hysterical laughter. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regain her balance, swaying as she walked ever forwards, unable to stop.

What was she thinking about again?

Wait… this wasn’t making sense. She was rambling again. And she was… walking? Her feet were moving, she needed to open her eyes. When had she closed them? Why had she closed them?

What the fuck was happening to her.

_Language, Ariana, da’assan._

The familiar voice inside her head made her mind quieten a fraction and she opened her eyes, half expecting to see him in front of her. He wasn’t there, of course he wasn’t there. She was alone in this strange corridor full of statues.

_I think now is the time for such language, Solas, letha-fucking-llin._

She could practically feel him wincing and shooting a glare at her as she thought it, the image making a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Her hands dropped from her face as her heart began to beat normally again, the simple act of pretending to have a conversation giving her focus again.

_Where are you?_

She should probably be more concerned over why she could hear Solas in her head, his voice and tone pitch perfect, as if he was standing right next to her. Probably just her going crazy. Or dying. She could barely feel the cold anymore, which was bad. Every step she took felt like she was tugging a Druffalo behind her, maybe even two, and they were trying to walk in the opposite direction to her.

_Ariana, where are you?_

_Elvhenan_ , Ariana thought with a wry smile, her thoughts beginning to slipping away from her like smoke. _Ma ghilana mir din’an_. _I’m going to the hearts of our Ancestors, guide me into death._

_No! Ariana, walk! Walk, da’assan, walk!_

She wished she could ignore the voice, but it kept tugging at her like a persistent child at her sleeve. Gritting her teeth, the cold began to seep into her again as her mind unwillingly cleared to obey the voice.

_Solas, you son of a bitch, why can’t you just leave me alone and let me rest?_

_You know why I won’t leave you, vhenan._

Vhenan? She didn’t understand that word and frowned, feet tripping slightly over a raised bit of pavement.

_What’s that supposed to mean? I just speak the Elvish the Keeper did and only enough to piss off Shems. What does Vhenan mean?_

The voice didn’t reply for a while and worry spiked through Ariana, the deep panic at being left alone again coursing through her like hot metal.

 _It matters not,_ came the eventual reply.

Ariana rolled her eyes. Even just as an incorporeal voice in her head Solas still managed to be utterly infuriating. _I don’t suppose you could be useful? Find a clue in my head about how to get out of here? I mean, after all you are just my subconscious. You really should be being more helpful here._

It felt for a moment like the voice was going to say something, the words hanging in her mind just beyond her reach, but then the moment faded.

_Very well. I will try._

Why did the voice sound like it wasn’t telling her something? It was _her_ mind’s voice after all, not Solas’. It couldn’t be, that was impossible. Ariana tried distracting herself by turning her ears to her own footsteps, echoing off the high stone walls and crumbling statues. Even if she craned her head she wouldn’t be able to see their faces, not that she was going to try. Something about them was unnerving, maybe the way they towered over her, or how their faces were disintegrating and worn with time, or possibly because they were so lifelike they seemed to move in the outer reaches of her eyes, only to snap back into stillness when she turned.

She thought she would much rather go back and wander aimlessly in the grand hall, if she had to wander aimlessly somewhere. It was the kind of place built for wandering whereas this seemed like the place to walk through with purpose and not look around. Her heart sped up and thudded in her ribcage like a nervous animal, the feeling of claustrophobia starting to press down on her more and more.

 _Relax, da’assan,_ came Solas’ voice, whispering into her mind’s ear. _You just need to keep moving forwards._

 _Why?_ Ariana asked, feeling like a petulant child as soon as she thought the words. _What’s the point? I’m miles underground and I don’t know where the hell I’m going, and I’ve lost my bow and most of my blood and my hand really hurts. Why do I have to even try getting out of here?_

_What is the alternative?_

_Stopping, Solas, I just want to stop and rest and never get up again._

_You’re talking about dying._

_Yes, alright, fine. I want to die, you got me. All the universe has done today is tell me that I shouldn’t be here anymore, so what’s wrong with that?_ Ariana scowled, an angry tear escaping her eye and soaking into the fabric below it. _The more I seem to cheat death, the more I feel like dying._

There was a long silence and Ariana thought that perhaps she’d finally gone too far, pushed her mind into breaking apart and squashed the voice and her only companion for good, but then-

 _I will not let that happen,_ was the firm reply, the steely tone leaving no room for argument. _You are closer than you think, Ariana. You need to keep moving._

_But I-_

_No. You need to keep moving._

Wonderful, she’d lost an argument against her own mind. Today really couldn’t get any worse.

The end of the corridor loomed in front of her, another slightly smaller archway passing over her head as she walked through. Now she stood in another square hall, significantly smaller than the first. Raised platforms crossed over and ran around the large square pool at the centre, its tiered depths sparkling against the crystals on the low ceiling. The temperature dropped by a few degrees, presumably the water in the pool was as icy as the river in the first hall, and Ariana shivered as she began walking around the room, not trusting the worn pathways that crossed over the water. She didn’t much fancy adding hypothermia to her list of ailments of the day.

Instead of monochromatic stone carvings decorating the walls, this room favoured painted frescos. The paint was peeling badly, most of the images unrecognisable and dull, but once upon a time they must have been beautiful. Bright, vibrant yellows and crimsons and golds that seemed to vibrate colour against the dim blue and green light dotted the disintegrating walls, burning into her eyes that had gone for what felt like days without seeing proper colour. Somehow seeing them in this endless gloom made her feel a little better, more like herself.

 _You’re almost there, Ariana,_ the voice reminded her and she smiled, comfort spreading warmth along her frozen muscles.

She could do this, she just needed to get to the end of the room. A faint breeze wafted over her skin, different from the stale air swirling around the caverns, this was fresh air, real air from the surface. It felt like a lover’s kiss on her face.

Her legs seemed to be moving through thick mud, her muscles finally starting to quake with the effort of carrying her towards the door. Ariana gritted her teeth and pushed, ignoring the screams of pain from her stiff muscles and surged towards the doorway, driven by raw instinct of getting the hell out of there.

The doorway stood directly in front of her now, and beyond it she could see a collapsed section of the ruins, rocks and stone fallen to create a steep pathway that she could climb up. Just beyond that she could see the faint glimmer of real moonlight filtering weakly down to lay gently on the ground before her.

_Climb, Ariana._

And climb she did. Her body scrambled into action, hands grabbing at the jagged stone and feet scrabbling for footholds. Upwards and upwards she climbed, her mind and vision narrowing until the moonlight was the only focus she had, the only purpose she needed to keep moving forwards through crushing exhaustion and blood loss and utter despair. She was almost there, she could feel the air from the surface surrounding her, filling her lungs and mouth with the sharp taste of salt and metal and car fumes. She was by the docks, she thought, she could hear the gentle swinging and tapping of the ropes against metal and the harsh, faint cries of seagulls. Maybe she was right by the emergency exit from Haven. Elgar’nan, it almost seemed too real, not quite believable. But even if she was still lying in the hall, life slowly ebbing away and mind drifting off into delusion, she didn’t care. She just needed to get out.

Ariana burst through the final layers of the ruin, her body flinging itself out and rolling onto the rough pavement, damn with rainwater and small puddles of oil spill. She lay on her back, panting and staring up at the real stars, barely visible against the velvet night sky. Wind caught her hair and brushed it over her forehead and she smiled, lifting her hand and tugging down the fabric wrapping around her mouth, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She’d made it, she’d finally made it. She didn’t think she could but _Mythal guide her_ there she was, lying on the filthy ground in her city again. She was alive, gloriously, wonderfully, painfully alive.

_Well done, vhenan. Hold on just a moment longer._

Faint laughter rose from her mouth at the words and she opened her eyes again, her arms dropping out to stretch out either side of her. Hold on for what? Oh, she didn’t care. Ariana let her eyes drift shut and she sighed, consciousness floating away and comforting, unknowing blackness rose up to meet her, wrapping around her like a blanket. Distantly she could hear the sound of thudding footsteps and heard shouts of “She’s here!” and “Thank the Maker”, but she couldn’t be bothered to try and open her eyes. She needed rest. She deserved rest.

_I’m alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this chapter and describing the ruins. Can anyone guess where she was? This is ofc based on that bit at the end of In Your Heart where you're walking through the snow and fun fact, mainly uses extracts from a short story I wrote after completing the quest with Ariana who will always be my fave inquisitor (sorry Oryn, but this is why you died in this fic).
> 
> As always, sorry if there were any mistakes that I missed, and if you liked this chapter please feel free to comment or leave a kudos because they mean the world to me and push me to carry on writing this :D
> 
> Also I was featured on dragonagefics if anyone has a tumblr and wants to check it out: http://dragonagefics.tumblr.com/post/121869281642/dragon-age-noir-au-blackout-city


	13. Morning Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me so long to upload, and it's actually a small part of the entire chapter (can i get a hell yeah for anticlimatic yaaaay). I've just not been in the right headspace recently at all to really write anything of quality, but hopefully after this that'll change. I'm scrapping the rest of the chapter and starting with a completely different beginning to the next section of the story, so bear with me and hopefully I'll actually start writing regularly again. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this guys, as usual I owe 99% of what's helping me write this to you, the other 1% to y'know the actual games ;)

Gauzy white curtains wafted against the slightly open window, the early morning sounds of the city caught up in the fabric before being blown gently into the sparsely decorated room. The distant sirens, shouts of coffee vendors, rush of steam vents and low murmur of the city dwellers that hung perpetually in the air at any time of day rolled around the white walls and squeaky clean, scuffed floors and melted into the crackling jazz music coming from the old radio next to the bed. The music swelled to a close and faded, the muffled fuzz of silence slowly filling the room before a new piece started and it was chased away into the corners again. Sunlight trickled through the curtains and dirty window panes to lay across the simple black framed bed, the light glowing against the already stark white sheets. Outside, the wind carried with it scents of distant blossom and green things, bringing a small, whispered promise to the city that spring would soon be coming, washing over the city like a soothing elixir.

The lone occupant of the room knew none of this, lying motionless on the bed with her skin almost as white as the sheets. She couldn’t feel the sunlight or the breeze brushing against her skin, or the mixture of scents brought with it. The only sign that she was still alive was the slow rise and fall of her chest, her still bleeding scrapes and cuts carefully bandaged by an unknown healer. Her brow was downcast, as if she could sense that she should wake up but couldn’t quite bring herself out of the realm of dreams yet. Some would have said she was an utterly unremarkable figure, perhaps a thug who had walked into the wrong crowd coming home from wherever she worked, or a City Guard running afoul of some of the city’s more violent gangs. In the morning light she seemed to be no more than a badly beaten up young woman.

Cullen knew that wasn’t true, as he looked over at the elf from where he stood with one shoulder pressed against the doorframe. He knew she’d stayed behind in Haven and somehow managed to survive the masses of corrupted TEMPLARs and Maker knew what else and had ended up pulling herself out of a crevice that had opened up after the shockwave from the blast at Weisshaupt had shuddered through the city. He knew that she’d killed enough TEMPLARs for Dorian to comment distantly on the lack of blades she had left, and that she’d lost her bow along the way and had been fighting them in hand to hand combat for countless hours. He knew she must have crawled through somewhere cramped and dirty, judging by the scuff marks on her knees and elbows, and then fallen, her wrenched and bruised shoulder and arm being his only clue. All the cuts and scrapes he could quantify, could see clearly what had happened, but the one thing he couldn’t explain, couldn’t figure out and what kept him in the doorway watching her silently ever since she’d been brought in was the glowing green scar on her left hand. Every so often it would flare and make a noise like the air being broken apart around it, making a sick feeling lurch and roll in his stomach. What had happened to make that mark appear, he had no idea, and it wasn’t the only strange thing that had changed about her. Even more unsettling was the darkened lines on her face, the once light green tattoos now shifting and changing colour even as he watched, like an old bruise turning purple, then green, then yellow. At the moment the lines appeared dark green or brownish, but he couldn’t tell exactly from his position at the door. He didn’t think… what had Solas called them? Vallaslin? Cullen swallowed nervously as he remembered the elf’s reaction to the changing colour when he caught a glimpse of her face when they’d removed the crude protective wrappings from her head. The man had gone even more pale until Cullen fancied he could see the veins running beneath his skin before taking in a deep breath and passing a hand over Ariana’s forehead, muttering a few words in elvish. If it was some sort of spell, it hadn’t worked, and the marks continued their relentless change.

Cullen remembered then how Solas’ hand had then brushed over his own brow as he muttered “this should not have happened…”. Yeah, no shit gumshoe, he thought bitterly. None of this should have happened, it would be insane to think it should. And the more Cullen thought about it, the more the sick feeling in his stomach grew at the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , this was all his fault. He was the common denominator here, he was the link between the Wardens and the Righteous (if they still called themselves that), he had arrived at the same time the attacks were taking place, it couldn’t be a coincidence. What was that saying? Once was chance, twice is coincidence, third time is a big fucking shit-storm. And if it was his fault, which he was now utterly convinced it was, then what happened to Ariana was his doing as well. He was the reason why she was beaten within an inch of her life and infected with strange, green magic that pulsed and grew like a living thing, corrupting her from the inside out.

It was his fault, and his fault alone. Cullen dropped his head into his hands, giving over entirely to the guilt and sadness consuming him, mixing nauseatingly with bubbling rage at the whole affair.

“How is she?”

The cool, Orlesian voice from behind him made his head jerk up, hot tears still beading in his eyes even as he wiped them hastily away. Shuffling stiffly around, he saw the face of the Chantry nurse who had surfaced from seemingly nowhere in the safe house they were standing in. Less than half the population of Haven had managed to get out alive, cut down and picked off by TEMPLARs like lame cattle falling to vultures. The ones who had survived were in no fit shape to roam the city either, but Mother Giselle had found them and patched them up as best she could, working with Dorian and Solas without objection despite their magic. Already she was becoming a staple part of the remaining group, flitting from patient to patient like a white rock unmoving in a restless sea, redressing wounds too large to heal in one go or comforting those mourning their lost families. Cullen liked her.

“Still out,” he replied, shifting his weight onto the other foot and standing up straight. His muscles felt like they had locked in place from how long he had been standing there. Was it hours? A day? He couldn’t remember. “Is she, uh…” his voice gave out halfway through his speech and he coughed awkwardly, frowning. “Is she any better?”

Mother Giselle’s eyes passed from the exhausted detective to the unconscious elf, concern lacing her eyes and hanging heavy on her features. “She is better,” she replied quietly. “She was very hurt when you found her, fractured ribs, bruised bones including a cracked collarbone, her left wrist was broken although I doubt she noticed that due to the strange mark, concussion, dehydration, borderline hypothermia, she was underneath the city for so long, it seems like the Maker’s will that she survived at all.” She lapsed into silence for a while, her eyes falling to the floor as her hands twisted together in front of her chest. “She also has multiple wounds from knives and a badly bruised trachea.” Her tone was low, the words weighing on her tongue like a stone, eyes darting to gaze sadly at Cullen’s profile. “It was like someone with incredible strength had tried to strangle her.”

Cullen stared at Ariana, his chest constricting with every malady Mother Giselle listed off. Licking his dry, chapped lips his gaze dropped to the floor and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It felt like someone had grabbed his lungs and was twisting them together, making it impossible for him to breathe.

“Is she… Is she safe now? Is she gonna….” He trailed off, his voice hoarse and shaking.

“She will survive,” the Mother replied. “Although how, I do not know. For a person to undergo such trauma and continue to fight as she has, they have to have an indomitable focus. Not many would have continued to battle for their lives in such a way, most would simply lie down and give up in the face of such adversity.” A sweet smile lifted the edge of her lips like sunshine peeking out from behind the clouds. “It is indeed admirable, and inspiring to see. Especially when you have all lost so much, for one life to be saved sometimes is the difference between hope and failure.”

“Yeah,” Cullen murmured, eyes still fixed on Ariana but now with a certain tenderness in them. Unknown to him, a smile was starting to emerge on his face as well as he stared at the sleeping woman, completely unaware of the people talking over her as her chest rose and fell with comforting regularity.

They stood in silence for a while, enjoying the quiet that lay across the room compared to the distant cries and echoing wails of the survivors many floors below them. Then Mother Giselle turned to regard him with dark, expressive eyes. “You need rest,” she said softly, laying a hand on his forearm, gently but firmly pulling him away.

“But what if-“ Cullen protested, but she cut him off.

“If anything happens, I will be sure to call you.” Despite the soothing nature of her words, her tone was underlain by pure steel. Cullen couldn’t argue against a Chantry Mother, especially not one who had helped them so much and asked for nothing in return.

So he nodded, his shoulders sagging as the weight of his exhaustion finally pressed down on him, making his bones ache. He hadn’t sat down since the University, he realised dimly as Mother Giselle led him away from the room and passed him into Cassandra’s care. Her hands were a little more firm as she took his weight, guiding him down the dusty stairs of the abandoned apartment block and into the dormitories they’d set up in the lobby below. He crashed onto one of the beds, the springs jangling indignantly below him, his eyes already shut and lights in his mind switching off like a shop at the end of the day, signalling it was time to rest. Yes, he needed rest. By the Maker, he needed it.


	14. Piano Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About halfway through this chapter my writer's block FINALLY broke and I wrote about 10 pages in a single sitting. So enjoy this odd chapter, because I really enjoyed writing it! And as always, if you'd like to leave a kudos or a comment, well I ain't gonna stop ya.

Out of all of the bars in Denerim, be it the quiet, laidback lino tiled cafes that seemed most awake at 9am, filled with light hums of conversation of office workers and early risers, or the wood-panelled dimly lit haunts of the night owls, brimming over with smoke and the heavy silences of people lost in their own thoughts, the Griffon’s Retreat was definitely one of the finer establishments of the city. It wasn’t because of the quality of the building, falling apart and fraying at the seams as it was, or anything it added to the bars already in the city, there was just something about it. Walking in you wouldn’t be greeted with plastered smiles of baristas or dead-eyed glares of tired patrons, instead you’d be acknowledged as belonging as soon as you stepped through the door. The person behind the bar may give a nod in your direction and a genuine (if a little small and tired) smile, inviting you to sit with no need for words. The patrons might glance at you but not meanly, simply adding you to their count of who was in the bar already, before turning back to their own conversations or sink back into their own worlds, oblivious to your presence once again. Take another step into the bar and your senses would be lifted with a myriad of smells and tastes and sounds, all quiet and soft, none competing with the others, rather all working together to create the wonderfully singular and gently comforting atmosphere of the place. The smell of warm wood would rise up from the carefully oiled bar and the slightly uneven and scuffed floor, wrapping together with unmistakable notes of liquor from the amber and dark red and green bottles lining the back wall. In your ear you might hear the tune of an old piano playing in the corner filling the gaps in the conversations of the people sat around the circular tables all around you. So you continue on your path through the dimly lit room and take a seat on a worn and lumpy red velvet topped bar stool and order your drink, enjoying the simple pleasure of being unnoticed in a sea of people and your normal world of crowds and smoke and noise, thinking how nice it is to sit quietly and breathe for a moment. Or you might think of how your drink is surprisingly good and give a nod of thanks to the woman who served it to you, receiving a friendly smile in return, no words necessary. Or perhaps you wouldn’t think anything at all, just sit and drink and let the noises and smells and tastes surround and envelop you like a warm, comforting blanket.

The things that were on Ariana’s mind at that moment were very different from usual, unfortunately for her. Even the tones of the tinkling piano didn’t do much to soothe her thoughts, whirring like a car engine gunning to maximum speed in her head. She sighed and wrapped her hands tighter around her tumbler, filled with her favourite drink of Chasined Sack Mead, something she’d noticed only she and maybe a few others drank. Many people didn’t care for the bitterness of the aftertaste compared to the sweet and fresh taste of the first sips, but Ariana liked that, the opposition of sweetness and sourness balanced to perfection on her tongue. But today, with such heavy thoughts on her mind, the tastes barely registered and she sighed again, taking another sip as if to chase the thoughts away.

It didn’t work.

She knew exactly why she was feeling like this, at least she had that small comfort. Unknown reasons for sadness makes it only grow bigger, she’d found. She knew exactly what had caused this raincloud mood, and everyone in this bar knew it too, it’s why they were so carefully avoiding her today. Even Flissa and Cabot were keeping their distance, although Ariana couldn’t tell if that was just Cabot being Cabot. Either way, she noticed, and it made her mood darken even more.

Why did they make _her_ the Inquisitor? Of all the people they could have chosen, why her? Cassandra would be better suited by a mile, she’d been Oryn’s right hand, after all, it could have so easily been her. Or even Josie, she’d at least know how to handle the diplomatic bullshit that was inevitably going to fall to her now. But no, it had to be her. Why, of all the people in Haven, had Oryn written that Ariana should lead them if she were to fall. Yes, they’d had a bond not a lot of people could understand, and alright so she knew the inner workings of the former Righteous better than most, and she’d worked closely with the main members of the Inner Circle since she’d joined but _still._

Ariana fought the urge to let her head drop onto the bar and growl into the wood. _Fucking hell, Oryn. Why did you do it?_

Instead she took another sip of the mead, thinking of the aptness as the bitter aftertaste rolled over her tongue. She made a grim face into the depths of the golden liquid, seeing the expression reflected back in the ripples. As she set the glass down on the wood, a spike of pain flashed up and into the broken bones of her wrist, stabbing into the muscles of her shoulder and making her wince and hiss sharply before pressing her lips together.

There was also _that_ which really didn’t help her feel any better. The mark from the orb had a nasty habit of flaring up whenever she least expected it with the sounds of glass breaking, glowing even through the bandages she’d wrapped around it. Out of sight, out of mind, at least that’s what she’d hoped. It wasn’t really working. If she wasn’t thinking about the mark she was thinking about her bruises or her cracked rib or her broken wrist or the lovely new marks on her throat from Corypheus’ hand or the myriad of cuts and stab wounds, or the fact her tattoos had changed colour. All of the former things she could deal with and had dealt with in the past, but the tattoos had really thrown her into a tail spin.

Out of all the colours they could have changed to, it just _had_ to be red, didn’t it. Red and with an iridescent sheen to them like the infected lyrium of the TEMPLAR mutants, turning to translucent green like the gleam on dragons scales when she was in certain lights and mirroring the glow of the mark on her hand. Just wonderful. As if she wasn’t conspicuous enough with her bruised throat and glowing hand. She ran her palm over her face and chased the thought away with another gulp of liquor, her mouth thinning as the pressure on her bruised throat grew. At least she had a lot of other thoughts to turn to to distract herself from her injuries. Let’s see, she could think of how she’d woken up after almost a day of being unconscious in a strange place, or how she’d then been given some rather alarming news by Solas, or how she’d had to lead the survivors away from the safehouse they were both in and been punched in the face (metaphorically, thank the Gods) by how much responsibility she now held for every single person in her group.

Oh yeah, she was just inundated with cheerful thoughts today.

Ariana took in a deep breath and leaned her chin into her palm, her fingers making small circles on the wood in front of her as she gave up and let her mind wander aimlessly through the memories of the past few days. She could have tried to call it back but she really didn’t want to, for once she just wanted to sit and think and try and untangle the mess of emotions swirling around inside her.

_~ 3 days earlier ~_

Cassandra’s scowl deepened as she saw Cullen collapse onto one of the cots and fall asleep instantly, not even bothering to take off his shoes. It wasn’t because she thought he shouldn’t be sleeping when there was so much still to do, if anything it kept him and his exhaustion out of the way for a few hours until he was in fighting shape again, it was simply the situation she found herself in. Looking after the people in Haven was simple, she’d mainly been in charge of the defence and fortification of the base not the actual caring part, that was up to the Herald and Josephine. But now the Herald was gone and Josephine was still in shock, sitting with a moth-eaten blanket around her shoulders and a vacant, glassy stare in her eyes, her hands clutching a mug of tea like it was a life raft. So it fell to Cassandra to take care of the survivors, and she really wasn’t good at that.

“Hey, Cassandra.”

The deep voice from behind her made her jump and turn sharply, glare now focused on the large Qunari and his mug of coffee standing there. He faltered, not sure if she was angry at him or just near him like normal.

“Yes?”

Something in her tone made him relax. Just angry near him then, that was comforting. “Here, you look like you need this.”

Cassandra took the offered mug gratefully. “Thank you.” After taking a small gulp and feeling the unpleasant wave of intense bitterness, she made a face and considered retracting that statement. She did her best to hide it behind her mug as she took another sip. “Charger’s own brew?”

Bull’s chest puffed up with pride as it often did whenever anyone mentioned the Chargers. “Yep, Krem’s working the bucket now.”

“Buck- Never mind. I don’t want to know,” Cassandra sighed and rubbed her hand over her aching forehead. She was as bone tired as the rest of them, the only difference was that she was a trained Seeker and had the ability to stay up for days at a time with barely an hour’s sleep. Looking around the wide lobby with its makeshift blanket beds and cots, it was easy to tell the soldiers from the civilians. The soldiers were doggedly trudging on, bringing medicine and extra blankets and comfort to those who needed it while the civilians were collapsed onto the beds, unable or unwilling to stay upright any longer. It had been almost two days since the initial attack on Haven and the shock of it coupled with the rush of evacuating was starting to take its toll. Many of the survivors had minor cuts and bruises from falling masonry in the tunnels, but others had been a little more unlucky, finding themselves at the front of the group when TEMPLAR stragglers had attacked. Most had died, others had escaped but barely and were in bad shape. Cassandra shuddered at the thought of being ambushed while in the darkness of the escape tunnels. If the Chargers and remaining Wardens hadn’t been there to guide the groups to safety they all would have died, she had no doubts about that.

Her eyes moved to Josephine, now being comforted by the spy from the Wardens, Leliana, she remembered. Cassandra had known she was the spy, or link as Leliana liked to say, ever since the Righteous had arrived in Weisshaupt and she’d heard the woman’s voice. Oryn had met her once, she had been told, the first time they agreed on information deals between the Righteous and the Wardens, but Cassandra had only ever heard her voice from phone calls. It was Leliana who had given them limited information about the Warden-Commander going missing and the attacks made on the gang afterwards, and had subtly manipulated Alistair into calling Cullen for help, for whatever reason that was. She doubted he’d even known Leliana was doing it.

Either way, she was glad Leliana was here now, she and her contacts had been extremely helpful, and they’d found Mother Giselle. That was the real prize, having the familiarity of a Chantry Mother made Cassandra feel infinitely better.

“Cassandra? You still in there?”

She jumped as fingers snapped in front of her eyes. Bull was staring worriedly down at her. “What?”

He frowned. “You need to get some rest,” he said firmly.

“What I need is for us to be in a better place, this is too exposed. We could be attacked at any minute, how are we meant to protect what’s left of the Righteous here?” she snapped.

To his credit, Bull didn’t seem annoyed at her harsh tone. “We will, don’t worry. Right now we just need to focus on looking strong.”

“I don’t care about how I look.”

“Not for you.” Bull nodded towards the survivors surrounding them. “For them,” he intoned.

Cassandra looked guiltily over to the group, realising that some of them were watching her with tired, baleful eyes. She averted her gaze, unable to keep looking at the collection of bloody bandages and bruises and festering wounds all around her.

“Keep it up, Cassandra,” Bull said, patting her shoulder heavily as he walked behind her and towards the group of refugees that Stitches was treating with an uncomfortable-looking Dalish as his assistant. “We’ll get through this. We always do. We’re like cockroaches, hard to kill and tenacious as shit.”

Cassandra grunted in grim response as the Qunari walked away, taking another gulp of the foul beverage as she watched him. Tenacious they might be, but all of this had proved that they definitely weren’t that hard to kill.

***

Upstairs, in a bubble of tranquillity that existed high above the dull chaos of the survivors, the lone patient was starting to wake up. The first thing she noticed was that something cold and wet was on her forehead. The second was the fact that it was morning and the birds were screaming in the unholy harmonic and ordinarily referred to as “pleasant” way that birds are wont to do in the wee hours of the day. Ariana loathed it whenever she heard the chorus because it meant that another day had started and she had to wake up, and now she was being assaulted by the vile tune once again.

“Fucking birds…” she muttered, throat stuck together from the roughest night she thought she’d ever experience. She felt worse than she had done after that night celebrating the release of Varric’s last book where she’d ended up lying semi-conscious on a barge ready to head out of the city before Bull jumped on and grabbed her, laughing raucously the whole time at the tiny inebriated elf slung over his shoulder.

Last night wasn’t quite as fun as that one had been.

Ariana’s brow furrowed deeply, causing the wet thing laid across it to slip down uncomfortably over her eyebrows. Before she could try and move her sluggish arms to shove it away, someone moved it back up to where it had been. She flinched and poured all her concentration into opening her eyes.

Gradually, as her eyelids cracked open, a white expanse above her came into view. Another blink and she saw the shafts of sunlight criss-crossing over it, one more and her eyes traced the myriad of small cracks and discolouration on the plaster.

“Good, you are awake,” came a smooth female voice from beside her and her head whipped round on the pillow to stare at the speaker.

“Careful…. No sudden movements,” the woman cautioned as Ariana winced, head rush rolling over her and making her eyes cross a little before she blinked hard.

“Yeah,” she grumbled, leaning back and staring at the ceiling again. “Got it.”

The woman smiled. “Do you know where you are?”

“Safe house, probably the one on 3rd and Mac Tir,” Ariana replied in clipped tones, eyes still fixated on the ceiling.

“Yes, how did you-“

“The traffic noise isn’t as bad here and there are birds so it means we’re on the edges of the city, and it’s the closest one we have to most of the side entrances to Haven. Also it’s one we hardly use so it’s the safest. It makes sense for Cassandra to have brought any survivors here.” The words tripped out of Ariana’s mouth before she could stop them as she thought aloud. The nurse did not reply. “Never mind. Who are you?”

She relaxed, seemingly reassured by the subject change. “I am Mother Giselle. Of the Denerim Chantry.”

Ariana gave her a sideways glance. “But you’re not from Denerim, are you?”

“No. I am from Orlais and used to live in the Hinterlands before I was called here.”

A lopsided, bitter grin lifted the side of Ariana’s mouth and she snorted. “Drawn by all the sin and corruption, right? Hoping the Maker’s hand will reach all the way out to Denerim?” She turned her gaze back to the Chantry Mother beside her. “Trust me, he doesn’t want us.”

Mother Giselle didn’t reply for a few moments and Ariana wondered if she’d gone too far, said too much. Chantry followers always put her on edge a bit, made her hackles rise and jaw clench, ready for a fight. Too much exposure to TEMPLARs and fanatics, she thought, too much faith in the elven gods. It made for an unhealthy mix of suspicion and fear of the faith that had steamrollered over the entirety of Thedas, crushing practically any other religion that might have existed before it.

“I did not come here to bring a faith to those who are unwilling to accept it into their hearts,” Mother Giselle said eventually, eyes downturned to her hands, clasped tightly in the lap of her simple white frock. “I simply came to assist a group who have offered help to those who have been abandoned by others.”

A flush rose up Ariana’s neck as guilt rolled in her gut. She hadn’t meant to sound so dismissive of Mother Giselle, especially since she’d kept her alive all night and watched over her for who knew how long. She swallowed, looking away awkwardly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice still hoarse and slightly choked from Corypheus’ attempt to throttle her. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Your apology is unnecessary, for you did not,” the woman replied with a smile at her patient. “Here, drink this.”

Ariana’s head began to swim again as Mother Giselle slid an arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up a little, leaning a ceramic cup against her lips and patiently trickling the contents into Ariana’s mouth in tiny mouthfuls. Ariana hadn’t noticed how much she hurt until she tried to move, muscles on her back and shoulders screaming at her and rocketing pain around her body, rattling against her bones and making her teeth grind together. The mark on her hand flared suddenly with the sound of breaking glass and made her spit out a mouthful of the bitter liquid and yell in pain. It felt like her arm was trying to wrench itself out of the socket, her hand burning like it had been dipped into a fire.

Mother Giselle quickly let her lie back on the pillow and stood swiftly, hurrying across the room to the battered and dusty dresser the other side. Opening a drawer, she pulled out some bandages and a syringe full of clear liquid and before Ariana could protest, she’d slid the needle into her arm and forced the plunger down.

A feeling of intense cold spread up from where the point sank into her vein and Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, feeling sick as the coldness seeped up her arm and to her shoulder. As she lay there, breathing heavily, Mother Giselle wrapped her marked hand in bandages and tied a neat bow at the end, hand lingering on top of Ariana’s arm in a small gesture of comfort.

“That should help with the pain,” she said as she moved back around the bed, sitting in her chair again. “The bandages are simply to… keep your mind off it.”

“Out of sight, out of mind, huh?” Ariana growled through gritted teeth and tried to relax. A long groan of annoyance and anger and pain issued from between her tense lips as she pressed her head back into the pillow. Minutes ebbed past and her heart rate began to slow, the sounds of the city pouring through the window making her mind calm a little, focus on something besides the dull ache of her hand.

“Feel better?”

She nodded, blinking away stinging tears as she did so. “Yeah, I’m…. I’m fine now. Thanks.” She didn’t mean for the words to sound so gruff but Mother Giselle didn’t seem to mind, merely giving her a small smile and gathering the medical tools off the bed to stow them neatly in the drawer again.

“Where are the others?” Ariana asked as the woman bustled about, tidying things and straightening bedsheets.

“I believe that Seeker Pentaghast and the Qunari are downstairs with the rest of the survivors,” Mother Giselle began as she worked idly. “The Warden leader is there too, as is the detective and the apostates.”

Ariana was surprised by how little the Mother seemed to be bothered about the rogue mages in their ranks, but quickly brushed the thought off. “How many did we lose?”

“I don’t think-“

“How many. Did we lose.” Ariana spoke through gritted teeth, not letting Mother Giselle finish before fixing her with a steely glare.

There was an awkward silence, before Mother Giselle spoke again. “Half of the population of Haven.”

“Half…” The word trailed off and Ariana’s head fell to the side, eyes closed as she let the figure sink in. Half the population. Half of the refugees that had come to them, broken and beaten and barely surviving, the people they had sworn to protect and care for, were dead. _Shit. Shit!_ Ariana squeezed her eyes closed even tighter as tears rolled down her face and dripped onto the stark cotton sheets, her fingers wound up in them tight enough to tear straight through.

“It is not your fault,” Mother Giselle said gently, kneeling beside her and laying a hand on her shoulder, the touch feather-light.

“I know,” Ariana lied. “But I should have done something.” Her voice was thick and faltering.

“You did all that you could,” came the reassurance. “You stood against monsters that would have made any other person quake in fear, and you survived. I do not know what you believe in, fate or the Maker or anything else, but you are alive for a reason. Perhaps your purpose was not to catch those who fell, but to protect those who still stand.”

The room fell silent again as Mother Giselle’s words faded, Ariana’s face still turned away as she let the tears fall, her lips pressed together against the sobs raking her chest. The two women sat, each lost in their own thoughts, letting the sounds of the city and birdsong outside fill the space between them. The world outside seemed so far away, so removed from everything that had happened that it was a strange comfort to hear it and feel the warmth from the sun on their skin, reminding them that there was more in this existence than their pain and suffering in that moment.

It felt like hours before Ariana managed to speak again, her lips sticking together and throat burning. “I should be helping them,” she croaked, voice rasping.

Mother Giselle opened her mouth as if to stop her as she began to sit up, rubbing her bandaged hand over her eyes and running a hand through her dishevelled hair, but then thought better of it and helped her to her feet. Perhaps it would do well for the survivors to see their saviour on her feet and unbeaten by the sorrows and turmoil. Well, unbeaten in their eyes.

Ariana winced as her bare feet touched the cold vinyl floor. A shiver ran up her body and she realised that she was wearing different clothes, her scout armour hanging over the stool beside the door. Now she was glad in a simple white shirt, several sizes too large with the ghosts of repaired tears in the fabric, but it was soft and clean and comfortable. Her trousers, although baggier than what she normally wore, fit relatively well despite obviously being made for a human woman, and she bent down to roll them up a few times so she didn’t trip and smash her face. That would be a story, she pondered as she tucked the shirt into the trousers’ high waistband absentmindedly, the mighty survivor of the Haven attacks felled by a pair of too-long trousers. A smile crept over her mouth and she dropped her eyes to what she was doing, shaking her head.

“Would you like my help getting down the stairs?” Mother Giselle asked, holding out her arm.

Ariana was reminded briefly of gallant princes offering their arm to swooning princesses and she almost shook her head on instinct before thinking better of it. Her legs were still shaky and she didn’t know how long she could stay upright without help.

“Thanks,” she said, and took the Chantry nurse’s arm, taking in a deep breath as she walked slowly but surely out of the room, chin held high despite her aching body, as if the pain didn’t bother her one bit.

 

The sounds of raised voices cut through the air towards the two women as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and they glanced at each other in concern. An obviously heated argument wasn’t the first thing they’d expected to find amidst the sea of refugees in the lobby, but it was impossible to ignore the yells and noises of scorn from just beyond the wide, low archway that stood between the stairwell and the room beyond.

“What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what I was brought here to do, I’m not your emissary!”

Ariana’s eyes narrowed. Was that… Cullen? She’d never heard him yelling like that before. Her hand slid from Mother Giselle’s arm and she rushed forwards down the last few steps, feet slapping against the dirty floor. She reached the archway and leaned against it, head already spinning from the slight exertion of running the short distance. Beds and cots were lined up in neat rows inside the wide lobby and she could see a few people walking around them, tending to the wounded, trying very obviously to ignore the group of arguers standing on their outskirts, a few feet away from where Ariana stood.

“We cannot simply ignore this, we must find a way!” Cassandra yelled back, her powerful voice rising above the hum of conversation behind her and silencing the entire room. Her face was flushed and her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, eyes blazing underneath her messy hair.

“And who put you in charge?” Cullen growled, taking a step forwards. He looked like he had just woken up, eyes still slightly bleary and hair in complete disarray. “We need a consensus or we have nothing!”

“I brought you into this because I thought you would be able to help,” Cassandra spat back, lifting her chin and staring him down, leaning forwards so they were completely eye to eye, noses almost touching as they glared at each other. “Clearly you are not as intelligent as I first thought.”

“Please!” Josephine’s desperate voice cut across the two soldiers and they drew back as the Ambassador pulled them apart, hands shaking. “We must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Righteous, we’re hobbled, we have to work together!”

Cullen growled and ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. “Well it can’t come from nowhere,” he retorted hotly, pacing a few steps back and forth.

“She didn’t say it could!” broke in a red-haired woman from behind Josephine, arms wound tightly around a blanket.

“ENOUGH!” Cassandra’s roar made all of them jump and turn to her, a mixture of anger (mostly from Cullen) and shock (entirely from Josephine) on their faces. “This… This is getting us nowhere,” she continued in a lower tone, glowering at all of them.

Cullen snorted, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, we’re agreed on that much,” he said tiredly.

“How long have they been arguing?” Ariana whispered to Mother Giselle as she joined her in the archway, none of the group in front of them noticing the two women half-hidden behind the wall.

Mother Giselle sighed. “On and off for a few hours. First it was the Seeker and the Warden leader, then the Seeker and the Wardens’ mage, then the Tevinter and the Seeker, then the Tevinter and the Qunari, then-“

“I get it, everyone’s been arguing.” Ariana sighed, resting her forehead briefly on the flaking white paint in front of her before looking up again, eyes flicking around the lobby. Everyone looked so broken.

“They have that luxury thanks to you,” Mother Giselle said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “If it was not for your actions, Corypheus would have come after us long ago. The enemy could not follow us and when time turned out, we turned to blame.” Her hand slid from Ariana’s shoulder and she sighed. “Infighting threatens us as much as the TEMPLARs.”

“Is there any sign of the red TEMPLARs?”

Mother Giselle shook her head. “No. It’s entirely possible they all died in the collapse of Haven. That, or we are believed dead, or thought that without Haven, we are helpless. Or they gird for another attack. I cannot claim to know their minds.”

Ariana snorted a bitter laugh. “I saw them, Mother, I don’t think even they know their own minds.” She watched the group for a while longer, seeing how tired they all looked, how none of them were meeting each other’s gaze, how the dust was settled on their clothes and hair and wasn’t being brushed off, as if they didn’t care. “If they’re arguing about what we should do next, I need to be there,” she said finally, standing up straight and taking a step forwards.

A hand on her arm stopped her and she turned, seeing Mother Giselle staring at her with wide, intense eyes. “Another heated voice won’t help, even yours. Perhaps… especially yours.” The woman sighed and drew her back into the stairwell, sitting on the bottom step and inviting Ariana to sit next to her.

“Our leaders struggle because of what the survivors witness,” she began in a low tone. “They saw their protector stand, and fall, and another take her place only to fall again. And now, they have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained.” She broke off, giving Ariana a wry smile. “That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure.” The smile dropped from her lips and she turned to gaze across the swath of refuges in front of them. “What we must perhaps come to believe…”

“But I escaped the collapse,” Ariana argued, brow knitted together in confusion. “Barely, perhaps, but I didn’t die. I’m not some kind of messiah who rose from the dead to fight evil, I’m just… lucky.” _If you can call what happened to me lucky_ , she added in her head, left hand clenching unconsciously in her lap.

“Of course, and the dead cannot return from across the veil, as you say. But the people know what they saw, or perhaps…” Mother Giselle turned back to Ariana, catching her eyes and holding them with dark intensity. “Perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

Ariana didn’t reply for a while, Mother Giselle’s words whirling around her head. She bit her lip. “I just don’t see how what I believe matters,” she said finally. “Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat.”  She stood before Mother Giselle could reply and began walking stiffly towards the lobby. Just before she crossed the threshold she turned, looking sadly back at the Chantry Mother still sitting on the stairs with her head lowered and hands clasped tightly in the lap of her white dress.

“You can’t match that with hope alone,” she murmured, knowing that the woman had heard her before turning away and walking into the lobby.

As soon as she came into view, Cullen’s eyes flicked up to meet hers with an unreadable expression behind them. Was it fear? Shock? Relief? Or a strange mixture of all three… Ariana couldn’t tell, and his gaze dropped to the floor before she could work it out. A strange feeling rolled over her, prickling up her back, she didn’t want him to be afraid to look at her. She was the same person as before, the same idiot who knocked him unconscious performing a stupid stunt off the edge of a building, the same person who’d taken him to meet Solas and the same person whose name he had screamed as the bulkhead severed the space between them.

 _I’m the same person,_ she kept reminding herself as Cassandra looked up and caught sight of her, face turning from angry red to white as the mark on Ariana’s hand flared suddenly, green light shafting through the bandage and glowing even against the watery sunlight. _I’m the same person_ , she said as Josephine took a step forwards with joyful relief on her face, only to stop herself from catching Ariana’s hands like she normally would and falling back, as if there was an invisible barrier between them that she couldn’t cross. _I’m the same person,_ she uttered again as the faces of the refugees turned to her, eyes boring into her now pink face as they looked at her like she was Andraste herself, come back from across the veil to guide them into a new place of hope and light.

 _I’m… I’m the same person,_ _I’m the same person, I’m the same person!_ she yelled inside her head as Mother Giselle walked up behind her, her gentle footsteps the only noise in the now silent hall, all eyes fixed on the bandaged elf standing before them. It felt like time had stopped, no birdsong or bustle of pedestrians or noise of traffic issuing into the lobby, just perfect, complete silence, like everyone was holding their breath and waiting for something to happen. Ariana’s eyes grew wider and wider as panic started to rise in her stomach, everywhere she looked people were staring at her, even Cullen’s eyes had risen from the floor and were fixated on her as if he couldn’t believe she was there, standing in front of him. She couldn’t stay here, she couldn’t have everyone staring at her like she was a messenger from the heavens, she couldn’t handle all those eyes locked onto her, there was nowhere to look, nowhere to hide, no shadows to sink into and disappear forever, no-

Beside her, Mother Giselle began to sing. The words started softly at first, as if she was intoning them entirely to herself, but she raised her chin and closed her eyes, the song echoing across the lobby in such a small act of defiance, rebelling against the darkness threatening to consume them all in the only way the Mother could.

Ariana knew that song. Everyone knew that song. The words rose in her mind, the song flaring in her chest and pressing against her throat as if it was trying to break free.

_“Shadows fall, and hope has fled,_

_Steel your heart, the dawn will come…_

_The night is long, and the path is dark,_

_Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.”_

Mother Giselle’s voice trailed off, as if waiting for another to lift it in song again, and the echoing note hung in the air, waiting, yearning, willing someone to stand and join her.

And someone did.

“ _The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far…”_ The red haired woman beside Josephine sang in a crystal clear voice, as sweetly and as mournfully as a nightingale’s song. Leliana, Ariana remembered with a jolt. Her name was Leliana. Her hand was wrapped around an Andrastian symbol at her neck, tears brimming in her eyes as she turned her gaze to the heavens, as if remembering that something or someone was there.

“ _Keep to the stars, the dawn will come,”_

The hymn, sung by the two women in the cavernous hall was quickly picked up by a few of the refugees, their voices hoarse and cracked and faltering as if they’d forgotten the words, but they soon grew stronger, brighter, more powerful as they continued, rising to their feet as if in a trance. A few of their eyes were still fixed on Ariana, but others were turned to the sky or closed entirely, as if touched by some divine presence.

_“The night is long, and the path is dark,”_

Cullen’s voice suddenly rose up with the others and Ariana’s eyes darted to him, seeing him standing with his eyes closed and face upturned, the words weaving through the air mingling perfectly with the others and she had a vision of him standing in a Chantry as a younger man, singing with the recruits as he must have done as a TEMPLAR in training. The thought made her smile, but she didn’t know why.

“ _Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come…”_

Her hands clenched and unclenched uncomfortably at her side and she forced herself not to falter back as the refugees knelt in front of her, bowing in a smooth wave like trees before a great wind.

“ _Bare your blade, and raise it high,_

_Stand your ground, the dawn will come,_

_The night is long, and the path is dark,_

_Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.”_

The song vibrated against Ariana’s ribcage as the voices surrounding her swelled and rose to a great crescendo, her eyes stinging with unfallen tears that had risen without her consent at the sight of the survivors of Haven, the Inner Circle of the Righteous, the stragglers from the Wardens and the nurses from the Chantry, brought with Mother Giselle to aid the wounded, all of them kneeling before her as if from one, united faction and not broken parts of beaten-down groups. Beyond them she could see a single figure standing, half hidden in the shadows, watching as if in confusion at the horde kneeling before Ariana. If she was being honest, she had no idea why they were doing it either. But maybe Mother Giselle was right, she thought as the singing ended, the last notes echoing away and drifting through the windows into the open air and sky beyond. Maybe they needed to see her like this, as a Messiah, a spark of light in the darkness of their sorrows. And maybe her job wasn’t to agonise over the ones she’d let slip through her fingers, but concentrate on defending the ones still in her grasp.

_I’m not the same person to them anymore, am I…_

The refugees began to stand and a light hum of conversation started again, but this time it sounded happier, lighter, words spoken without the weight of pain or exhaustion on them. Ariana blinked, the spell of the song shattering and she was returned to the present, a dark flush creeping up her face and burning against the wounds there as she caught Cullen’s eye, his gaze holding her for a moment too long, a bit too intensely before it broke and she found she could breathe again.

“A word.”

 _So much for finding a quiet corner and relaxing_ , Ariana grumbled to herself as she heard Solas’ voice from beside her. How had he managed to get over to her so quickly? Slippery little-

“What is it?” she said before her thoughts could go any further, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows.

His eyes flicked around the hall before he caught her elbow, touch barely strong enough to be felt through the thin sleeve but still making a jolt run through her. “Not here, in private.”

Ariana frowned as she allowed herself to be led away unnoticed, following Solas as he walked back through the arch and down a corridor, away from the stairwell and lobby.

“Where are we going?” she demanded as he turned down a flight of stairs that sank into darkness, a magelight already held in his palm and bathing them in an eerie blue glow. The temperature dropped around them and she drew her arms around herself, the memory of being trapped in an icy darkness far too recently rising in her mind and making her shiver.

“Somewhere where we cannot be overheard,” came his cryptic response and she rolled her eyes.

“Great…” she murmured. “Couldn’t have picked somewhere warmer, huh?” Solas seemed annoyingly unaffected by the temperature drop and she fought the urge to make a face at his back.

She was answered by a small laugh. “I apologise, da’assan. There, we are here.”

Ariana frowned as they reached the bottom of the stairs and was greeted by a vast darkness. Judging by the way the air swirled around them they were in some sort of basement, but she couldn’t tell for sure. Why, of all places, would Solas talk to her here?

“No chance of being overheard down here, right?” She shivered and hugged herself tighter. “What’s going on?”

Solas didn’t reply for a moment, the regal planes of his face lit coldly by the magelight as he stared at her for a moment before raising his hand and summoning a green, ghostly flame, sending it floating out into the centre of the room and illuminating their surroundings in dancing lights.

They were standing in a low ceilinged, completely bare room. It looked like it could have been used for storage one day perhaps, or a secret meeting place. Perfect for the secret meeting that Ariana and Solas were apparently having.

“Alright, you’ve got my attention.” Ariana didn’t mean for her voice to sound so weak, but she was beginning to falter and Solas’ crypticness wasn’t helping. “What’s all this about?”

He stared at her for a second longer, brow knitted together as if in concern before he looked away and turned his attention to the flames beside them. “It… It has been centuries since humans have raised one of our kind so high,” he began disjointedly, as if the words were difficult to say. His eyes flicked back to her and she was shocked at the intensity in them, despite the softness of his voice. “You should be honoured.”

“I thought you didn’t consider yourself one of “my kind”,” she retorted with a bitter smile, remembering how adamantly Solas used to protest about being considered Dalish just because he was an elf.

“We are both elves, even if our… background differs,” he countered calmly, clasping his hands behind his back. “And now we find ourselves on the same side again, it seems we have more in common than I first thought.”

Ariana blushed, memories of the last time they worked together rising in her mind as she swallowed, eyes flicking from the floor back to his face. Judging by the small smile she saw there, he was remembering it too. Or perhaps was amused by how the memories affected her, she could never tell. He was as unreadable as a book in a foreign language. Held upside down. With the pages stuck together.

“You didn’t bring me down here to discuss elven politics, did you?” she asked in an annoyed tone, trying to distract herself.

Solas laughed in his strange, soft way again and shook his head. “No, unfortunately. The things I have to tell you is far less enjoyable.”

Ariana brushed aside the comment she would have made about how elven politics could be considered enjoyable and sighed. “So what is it, Solas?”

He pressed his lips together and looked at the floor, as if hoping to find the words there. Ariana had never seen him this at a loss for words.

“The mark on your hand, it was from an orb carried by the monster that attacked us, correct?”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it certainly wasn’t that. Icy shock cascaded over her and and her mouth dropped open, hundreds of words rising in her throat but none managing to be spoken.

“I… How did you know about that?” she managed to whisper finally, words barely audible.

“What is their name?” Solas demanded, as if he hadn’t heard her.

His name… The name of the creature who attacked her. Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, images flashing behind her eyelids and burning into her brain. Fingers around her throat, the glow of lyrium, the silhouette in the darkness, red eyes blazing into hers like a fire, furious and dripping with blood.

“Corypheus,” she gasped as her eyes snapped open, seeing Solas staring at her with concern lacing his gaze. “His name is Corypheus.”

Solas didn’t reply for a moment, averting his eyes. Suddenly he stepped forwards and caught her hands gently between his. “I am sorry,” he intoned. “I… I should not have pushed you to remember that.”

“It’s alright.” Ariana shook her head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. “I’m fine. I just… I’ve had a long day,” she finished with a sad laugh and looked up into his eyes again. They were so close, she realised distantly. She could see his freckles, count them if she wanted to.

Stillness hung between them, the kind that came after a sharp intake of breath, waiting for someone to move first and break it. Solas’ fingers dropped from hers and the moment shattered, although not in the way it wanted, perhaps. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“The orb Corypheus carries, the power he used against you… It is ours.” He looked at her carefully, as if trying to gauge her reaction.  “Elven. Judging by the corruption of the TEMPLARs who attacked us, he must have used the orb to open a breach, and in doing so it must have granted him the power to change them, control them.”

“He said I was mortal. Like he wasn’t, somehow,” Ariana whispered, eyes wide and reflecting back at Solas as the flames between them surged brighter for a moment.

“Then he believes he is a God... Opening a breach to gain the destructive power he must have is no simple task, I do not know how he survived such an ordeal.” Solas broke off, sighing and running a hand over his face. “Nor am I certain of how people will react once they know of the orb’s origin.”

Ariana frowned, biting her lip, hands clenched together and palms uncomfortably sweaty at her sides. “Alright,” she said finally. “What is this orb and what do you know about it?”

Solas’ eyebrow twitched as if in approval at her question. “They are foci,” he explained, “Used to channel ancient magics, I have seen such memories in the fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter, the empire was built on the bones of our people. Knowing or not, the orb in his hands is something I cannot allow.”

The last words were spoken with such an intense finality that Ariana’s eyebrows raised in amusement. Nothing like an ancient elven relic to get Solas all riled up and ready to fight. The amusement dropped from her mind as a sobering realisation set in.

“This whole thing… If this gets out, there might be another crusade against our people. We’re too easy a target,” she said grimly, eyes dark and fixed on the horizon. They really didn’t need another Exalted March right now, or ever, come to think of it.

Solas nodded. “History would agree. But there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction. By attacking all of us, Corypheus has changed everything…” He broke off and fixed her with one of his steely gazes again. “Including you.  But…I know of a place that waits for a force to hold it, a place where we can build, grow, seeing everything but unseen by all.” A mischievous smile rose on his face and his eyes sparkled at her through the gloom.

Ariana’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh? And where is this magical place?”

His smile grew and he squared his shoulder, staring out into the gloom with amusement in his eyes. “Actually… You have already been there,” he said, barely contained laughter behind his words.

“What!?” Ariana growled in exasperation and looked at the ceiling, praying to the Pantheon for the patience to deal with this guy. “Where are we talking about, Solas, come on!”

He turned to her and lifted his arms, shrugging. “I thought it would have been obvious, da’assan!”

“I swear to every single God that has been or ever will be, Solas, if you don’t tell me right this second I will shove that flame so far up your arse you will taste smoke every time you swallow!”

“Well at least the years haven’t dampened your rather colourful imagination.”

“SOLAS!!”

“Skyhold, da’assan!” Solas burst out delightedly. “The catacombs you were in until very recently are part of an ancient elven citadel that used to be here before being destroyed by the Tevinter Imperium. They run all around the city, entrances at every crack in the pavement, every crumbling sewer pipe, there was even one in Haven except nobody knew until you fell right through the floor and down into it, Ariana!” The words rushed out of him in a torrent of excitement and Ariana found her hands clasped in his once again, his eyes wide and barely inches from her own. “You found our solution without even realising it! It seems… It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” His words turned slower, more careful, more tender and gentle as he stared deeply into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time.

Ariana’s heart fluttered against her ribcage like a bird trying to break free, her head spinning but somehow oddly calm and quiet as her eyes locked onto Solas’, unable to break free. His hands were still on hers and she could feel the heat rising from his skin even through the coldness of the air around them. She could barely breathe, barely think, barely move as they drew closer together as if held together by an ever-shortening string, unable to fight the instinct to lean forwards and-

 

 

“ _Inquisitor!_ ”

~~~

And with a jolt, Ariana was back in the present, sitting at the bar of the Griffon’s retreat staring into a glass of golden liquid. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head and squinting like she’d just woken up from a long nap and not from sitting and pondering her drink like a moron for the past half hour.

“Inquisitor?”  The voice from the stool beside her persisted and she swivelled around to stare at the person looking at her with a bemused and a bit wary expression.

“Cullen! Yes, sorry I was…” She coughed awkwardly, running a hand through her hair and wishing that the flush would fade from her cheeks. “I was just a bit lost in thought, that’s all.”

“I’ll say, I must have called your name five times before you finally heard me,” he replied wryly, raising a hand for the bartender to bring him a drink.

“Inquisitor isn’t my name, Cullen,” Ariana said quietly as she looked down at her clasped hands again, the worries that she’d been able to keep at bay with remembering the past few days rising up in full swing again.

He sighed. “I know, but calling you… It just seems inappropriate now,” he tried to explain haltingly.

“Why, because I’m your boss or because you think I was sent from the Maker to smite down our heretical enemies?” she retorted sarcastically, giving him a sharp sideways look.

“No, it’s just… I mean I don’t… It’s not that I… Oh Maker,” Cullen groaned. “I’m not doing a very good job at this, am I?”

“Nah, but that’s ok. It’s not your keen rhetoric skills we need after all.” _Don’t make an innuendo about oral skills, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it-_ “So what can I do for you?”

Cullen gave her a sideways look as if he knew what was going on inside her head and she stared innocently back. “Nothing,” he said, giving up and nodding to the barmaid as his drink was placed in front of him. “Just sat down and thought I’d say hello.”

The icecubes clinked against the side of the glass as he took a sip, Ariana watching him closely, trying to figure out if he was being truthful. Just _happened_ to be in the area. Just _happened_ to be there the same time as her and just _happened_ to not be avoiding her like everyone else seemed to be.

“Ok,” she replied lightly and spun back round on her stool, catching her own drink and taking a large gulp. “So, how is everything back at Skyhold?”

“Cold, mostly. We’re trying to get the old heating system to work again, by heating water through stone pipes in the walls, but it looks like the elves used magic to keep the fires going and we don’t have enough mages to kickstart everything,” Cullen rattled off tiredly, as if he was giving a report to a superior officer, which in truth he was. But it didn’t feel like Ariana was his superior, and he frowned, lips pressed together as he pondered.

“Ah. Sounds rough.” Ariana tutted against her glass. “Wish I could be there.”

Cullen’s eyes flicked over to her with concern hidden in their amber depths. He watched her profile sadly for a moment before turning away again. “You know you’re going to have to come back at some point,” he reminded her gently, tone low enough for only her to hear.

She didn’t reply for a while, just sat with her glass clutched tightly in her hands, her shoulders high and tense and betraying how she truly felt. “I know,” she confessed. “I just… It’s hard. Leading them there, taking them down into where I thought I was going to die all alone after seeing Haven-“ Her voice broke and she swallowed, eyes fixed on the wooden bar. “It’s hard,” she finished lamely, tone almost as bitter as the liquor in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine,” Ariana cut him off before he could start fumbling around for words again and he looked away, a flush creeping up his neck and making the skin on his back prickle uncomfortably.

Cullen took another large gulp of the whiskey to distract himself, the booze burning a harsh line down his throat and lighting a fire in his belly. Sometimes he wished he could just talk to her like a normal human-or elf, in her case. He wondered what it would have been like if they met on the street somewhere, away from the tangled web of gangs and magic and murderers that they found themselves caught in. What would he even say to her? _Hey, want to go grab a drink? I know this great bar that’s definitely not full of gang members and apostates. It’ll be a blast, whata’ya say?_ No.

“Look, for what it’s worth, if you ever need to talk to someone…” Cullen’s eyes caught hers and he smiled, as genuinely as he could, gold eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m here. Doesn’t even have to be about all this,” he added with a vague gesture around them. “Just anything you need. Maybe nothing, I’m good at talking about nothing. You just…. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Ariana couldn’t look away from him as he smiled, she’d never really seen him smile before. He looked younger, the same age as her, his eyes sparkling in the dim, comfortable light of the bar. The expression suited him.

“Thanks,” she heard herself replying, eyes still fixed on his.

He nodded and slid off the stool, grabbing his coat from where it lay across the counter. “Any time,” he said easily, swinging it around his shoulders and turning to leave, tossing a few notes on the wooden surface as he did so. “Boss,” he added with a mischievous grin.

Ariana grinned too, she couldn’t help it, the man’s smile was infectious. She watched him as he walked away, hands sunk deeply into the pockets of his old trench coat. He was nicer than she gave him credit for, and the small offer of a sympathetic ear was making her stomach turn in circles like a dog chasing its tail. What utter nonsense, she thought as she finished off her drink and stretched out her arms, straightening the kinks from sitting still for so long. Anyone would think that she- Nope. She wasn’t even going to finish that thought.

“Hey, Rabbit,” came a familiar deep, husky voice from behind her and she turned, eyes darting downwards quickly when she realised who she was looking at.

“Varric,” she said delightedly, smiling widely at her friend who returned it easily. She praised the gods for the fact he was still calling her by her nickname and not her formal title which everyone else had obviously reverted to. “Care to join me in a drink?”

“Don’t you mean _for_ a drink?”

“Actually this stuff is pretty strong so I’m practically swimming in it at this point.” She winked at him, brows knitting together as she realised how concerned he looked. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I… um… This is difficult to say…” Varric rubbed the back of his head and sighed.

Ariana’s eyebrows shot up. “You? At a loss for words? Now I really have seen everything.” She leaned forwards so she was eye to eye with him, full of concern for the awkward dwarf in front of her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You know how we know practically nothing about what we’re facing?” Varric eyes finally rose to meet hers and she was surprised by how nervous he looked. Almost like a child about to confess to a misdemeanour in front of his parents. “I… might know someone who can help with that.”

Whatever Ariana had been expecting him to say, it certainly wasn’t that. She sat back, flummoxed for a moment. “Ok… So, why didn’t you mention this sooner?” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly for his response.

“Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory so I sent a message to… An old friend,” he explained, some of his old confidence slipping back. “This is his area of expertise so he might know something that can help us.”

“Alright, who is he?”

Varric made a face, eyes darting either side of them. He took a step closer to her, tone low and conspiratorial. “Not here, someone might overhear us and get the wrong idea.”

“Varric, at this point, _I’m_ getting the wrong idea.”

“Look, just… Trust me. It’s complicated. Come on,” Varric held out his arm for her to take, as if they were going to do nothing more than taking a leisurely stroll through the city at dusk and she took it, letting him lead her towards the door. “Inquisitor, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many times I watched the damn Dawn Will Come cutscene while writing this chapter...


	15. Double Dip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to upload this! I was actually in Vienna, and only just got back. I'm starting my new job soon as well so chapter updates might be a little slower than usual until I get into the swing of things. That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Apologies for any mistakes, I once again didn't proof-read this in the name of uploading haste.

“Corypheus has left us crippled, there is no doubt about that,” Josephine began, clutching her clipboard tightly with her pen poised above it, ready and waiting to take notes. Her hand shook only slightly now when she said his name, she’d managed to get over most of her fear of the demons that attacked them. Or maybe she’d just learned to hide it better. “It will take months for us to even begin to recover our former connections, and working with the remaining Wardens is going to be… difficult.”

“Why?” Leliana asked. She looked around at the other people in the room, shrugging. “It’s not like we don’t have a common goal here.”

Josephine shook her head, her heavy gold necklace glittering in the blue-green lights that dotted the walls and columns snaking up them to the domed ceiling, a large white crystal set in the centre like a chandelier. “It’s more than just co-operation, many of the former Righteous believe that we wouldn’t have been attacked if it wasn’t for our contact with the Wardens. They think that if we’d kept to ourselves as we’ve always done, we wouldn’t have been discovered.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Josephine winced at Leliana’s tone. “Perhaps. But we must show them that the Wardens are allies now and that we need them in the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition used to be a sub-set of the TEMPLARs,” Cassandra said slowly, placing her hands on the low stone between them, surface cluttered with maps and oil lamps. “I would imagine trusting an organisation who were once part of the group that attacked us is going to be…. tricky.”

“To say the least,” Cullen added from beside her, arms folded over his chest and eyes flicking over the maps. “Although the red TEMPLARs, if that’s what we’re calling them now, aren’t actually part of the Order anymore.”

Josephine nodded, folding their comments up in neat little piles inside her head. “We must focus on community bonds and co-operation. In part, that’s already being achieved through rebuilding and salvaging pieces of Skyhold. We must work on showing ourselves to be the Inquisition, not the Wardens and Righteous.”

“Aw, that’s a shame,” came a voice from the doorway, and they all started and looked over at the person lounging there. Alistair grinned and walked into the room, thumbs stuck into his belt and tie loosened around his neck, the very picture of easy messiness. “I always liked being a Warden.”

“We… We wouldn’t be erasing former allegiances, Warden Commander,” Josephine hastened to say, a little flustered from his sudden presence. “We would simply be putting the Inquisition first. To tell the truth, we’ve had a Warden in our forces for a while now, Blackwall.”

“Blackwall, huh… Odd. I don’t remember a Warden by that name. But then again, I don’t remember a lot of the Wardens’ names.” He held up a hand good-naturedly. “And it’s alright, I didn’t mean anything by it. Also, I’m not the Warden Commander, my wife is.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet, looking at the ceiling. “When will people remember that…” Cullen heard him murmur exasperatedly.

“Anyway, to get back to what we were talking about,” Cassandra cut in, tone sharp. “We need to figure out where Corypheus is planning to strike next.”

“Why, so we can be crushed again?” Cullen said indignantly. “We’ve pretty much proved we’re no match for his forces!”

“We were unprepared last time,” Cassandra argued, turning to glare at him. “We won’t make that same mistake again.”

“Yeah, we won’t, because it’s not going to happen!”

“And who gave you the authority to argue with me on this! You’re not even part of the Righteous _or_ the Wardens, why are you even still here!?”

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself!”

“STOP!!” Josephine’s shout rang through the air, making both of them jump and stare at her. She glared at them, chest heaving and face flushed. “We cannot keep arguing about this. Cassandra, Cullen has every right to be here as an ally of the Righteous _and_ Wardens, and a primary member of the Inquisition. He is, in all respects, an advisor to our cause the same as you or I. Cullen, Cassandra is correct, we need to figure out Corypheus’ plans but _not_ attack him. That would be foolish. And a little pig-headed,” she added with a sideways glare at Cassandra, who huffed angrily and looked away.

Cullen nodded, feeling a little sheepish under the scrutiny of her glare. “Sorry,” he mumbled in Cassandra’s direction.

She said something under her breath which sounded a little like “me too”.

“Alright… now that’s settled,” Leliana said awkwardly, “does anyone know where the Inquisitor is?”

The glare dropped from Josephine’s face and she shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since we got here,” she confessed.

“Me neither,” Alistair added unhelpfully. “Oh and by the way don’t think this new _Inquisition_ thing is going to stop us from having a chat about your information passing business, Leliana,” he said, fixing the woman with a withering glare.

“She’s at the Griffon’s Retreat,” Cullen broke in tiredly before Leliana could reply and kick-start another argument. “I think Varric’s there as well, he said something about introducing her to someone and it being too complicated to explain when I saw him earlier.”

Cassandra’s ear’s pricked up in the way they always did when Varric did something suspicious. “He’s doing what?” she growled, hackles rising as she glared at Cullen.

He shrugged. “No idea. Only saw him for a second when I left the bar on my way here, didn’t exactly have time for an in-depth heart to heart.”

Her mouth curled up at the corners in a snarl. “That little… He knows not to go being my- our backs with shit like this,” she snapped. “Who would he be introducing her to?” Her eyes lifted to Josephine’s, who shrugged and shook her head quickly.

“I don’t know, he didn’t say anything to me!” she squeaked and turned to Leliana. “Have you heard anything?”

The other woman shook her head as well. “No, sorry.”

Cassandra growled again and she stood up straight, whirling around and marching through the door before anyone could stop her, footsteps echoing down the hallway and joined by intermittent muffled swearing, the others watching her in stunned silence.

“Um… What just happened?” Alistair asked to nobody in particular.

“I have no idea…” Cullen answered, still watching the door.

“I do know one thing,” Josephine said slowly, eyebrows almost grazing her hairline, clipboard forgotten in her arms. “If Varric’s brought who I think he has…” She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Cassandra’s going to _kill_ him.”

***

“You know Varric, when you said that you wanted me to meet someone, this…” Ariana’s eyebrow rose as she stared at the large image of a busty dwarven woman advertising Vintage Flavour Orzammar Mead (“For When You’re Caught Between A Rock and The Deep Roads”) on the neon billboard high above them, “isn’t what I had in mind.”

“No, that’s not…” Varric sighed and grabbed her arm, pulling her further into the alley between the bar and the butcher shop next door. “Come on.”

Ariana groaned and let herself be tugged down the narrow gap, the buildings looming over her and cutting off all light coming from beyond the alley. The smell rising from the bins the other end of it wafted over to them and she gagged, pressing a hand to her nose. “Varric! What are we even-“

“Just trust me ok, look, just… Just wait here for a second.” Varric patted her arms and stood back, looking around them nervously.

“You know,” Ariana dropped the hand from her nose, finding the smell slightly more bearable now. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat and hunched her shoulders against the chill, wondering how Varric managed with his shirt thrown open and chest hair bared to the world. “When guys ask me to join them in an alley somewhere, they’re usually a little nicer about it.”

“Ha!” A sharp, harsh laugh echoed around them. “I like her.”

A knife was already in Ariana’s hand and she grabbed Varric, forcing him behind her as a figure emerged from the shadows.

“She reminds me of someone I know,” said the man who now stood in front of them, illuminated by the flickering neon lights above.

Ariana frowned, not lowering her blade even though the man seemed unarmed. He wore typical casual clothes, travel-worn shoes and dark trousers, red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and falling over his short woollen coat, the elbows patched in a darker, thicker fabric. As he moved his arms to put his hands into his pockets, a faint sheen ran over the patches and she narrowed her eyes. It looked almost like scales… Anywhere else she would have dismissed this man entirely, just another rough, worn traveller who found their way to this city and the end of the line, but as she looked closely at his tired, weather-beaten face she saw a strange shrewdness, an abnormal brightness in his brilliant blue eyes.

“Who are you?” she demanded, ignoring Varric as he tried to tug free of her grip.

The man opened his mouth to reply, but Varric finally managed to pull loose and darted around to stand between them.

“Ariana, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,” he said in a breathless rush. He placed a hand on the man’s back and smiled at both of them. “This is Hawke.”

Ariana’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “This… Is Hawke?” Her eyes darted up and down him, completely unbelieving of Varric’s words. This scruffy vagabond was the famed Champion of Kirkwall, the one who’d started a civil war that was spreading itself over the rest of Thedas like a foul disease, feeding and growing ever larger on the chaos it wrought? Or at least he’d helped to start it, she was still a little fuzzy on the details.

“Ouch.” The man placed a hand over his chest and winced. “That look was sharp enough to cut right through my armour.”

“But you’re not wearing any armour…”

He gave her a look. “Because everyone knows armour is always visible to other people, right.”

Ariana flushed, feeling suddenly oddly guilty about the armour she had taken to wearing underneath her clothes at all times. She dropped her eyes, shoving the knife back into the sheath behind her. “Ok, point taken. Still doesn’t mean I have to believe you’re really _the_ Hawke, the one everyone talks about.”

Hawke shrugged. “I’m really not. If you believe half the things you hear about Hawke the Champion of Kirkwall and Leader of the Mage Rebellion, Freer of Tevinter Slaves, or one of them at least, and Breaker of Circle Chains, you’d be a bit foolish to believe I was really him.”

“So, are you?” Ariana was starting to get pissed off.

“Hawke?”

“Yes!!”

“Sort of. Think of it like this, there’s you, right, the Inquisitor. Then there’s the real you, except they’re not really the same as each other. It’s similar with me, I’m Hawke but at the same time I’m not _Hawke_ , get it?”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “Varric, just tell me before I put an arrow in his eye.”

At Hawke’s side, Varric was going bright red with the effort of keeping in fits of laughter. “Yes, it’s him,” he said after a while. “You can tell because you just met him and you already think he’s a jerk, right?”

“Definitely bang on there,” she growled, shooting a side eye at Hawke who just grinned at her.

“Varric, you give me far too much credit. I’m not a jerk, I’m an arsehole, I thought you’d be able to tell that by now.”

“You’d think!”

“Gentlemen…”

“I mean you travel with me for what… seven years? And you still don’t know that I am not a common jerk, I’m an arsehole of the finest calibre.”

“Really? I thought you were more of a common or garden jerk, I’ve known arsehole’s much worse than you.”

“Guys…”

“And it wasn’t seven years, Hawke, it was six, I’m not that old.”

“Only six? The years haven’t been kind to you, have they, Var-“

“BOYS!!” Ariana yelled, both hands cupped around her mouth. Finally the dwarf and the human stopped in their banter to stare at her. “Could we _please_ focus!?”

“Sorry, Inquisitor…” Varric rubbed the back of his neck and grinned sheepishly up at her, knowing she couldn’t stay mad at him when he did that. “Been a while since I’ve seen this guy, you know?”

She sighed, arms crossed and scowl quickly fading. “I get it. So Hawke is Hawke, and you trust him so I should too. But… Why are you here? I mean, no offense, it would be damned good to have another sword on our side, but you’re a wanted fugitive. And if you come to Skyhold then I know at least one person is going to want to arrest you. Or kiss you…” She shrugged. “I can never tell with Cassandra whether it’s anger or hero worship.”

“I have that effect on people, go on, please,” Hawke encouraged, hand inviting her to continue in an almost gentlemanly way.

“It’s just…” Ariana bit her lip, very aware that she was a small fish in a very large pond to this guy. “Varric said you were an expert on demon hunting, but you’re also the one who helped start the Kirkwall uprisings. You’ve seen how mages are treated here, either they register or they’re carted off to TEMPLAR torture chambers, never to be seen again. It’s like we’re living in the god-damn dark ages!”

“I know. And I’m sorry, I’m sure he never meant for this to all happen. Anders I mean,” Hawke added after Varric nudged him.

“I don’t know, if there’s one thing Blondie could do it was stir up trouble,” the dwarf grumbled, looking away from both of them. “Just never thought he’d go this far…”

“None of us knew, Varric,” Hawke said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “And what’s important is trying to fix it now. That’s why I’m here, Inquisitor,” he continued, voice louder as he turned back to the elf in front of him. “We’ve made a lot of mistakes, and what happened in Kirkwall is being felt here, and I’ve no doubt Corypheus is using that chaos to fuel his own plans. After all,” he paused, bright blue gaze fixed on Ariana’s wide eyes, gaze boring into her with sudden intensity that stripped through his travel-worn disguise and revealed the man beneath, a man who’d inspired hundreds to rise up and follow him. “It’s easier to kill a dog when it’s already starting to go mad, after all, it has less capacity to bite back.”

“So what do you plan to do?” she asked, unaware that she was whispering, eyes wide and completely enraptured in his words.

Hawke grinned wickedly. “To teach him that a mad dog’s bite is even worse.”

***

“I just don’t see how _grain supply_ is a top priority right now,” Cullen growled, hands tangling exasperatedly in his hair for the third time that meeting.

“I disagree, clearly it’s very high on our to do list!” Alistair countered and Cullen’s eyes snapped up to glare at him. “I mean, how are we going to beat Corypheus without a proper _grain supply_!”

Cullen stifled a snort as Josephine flushed, Alistair winking at him before putting on a face of pure sincerity.

“It’s just bad common sense, really,” he continued, shrugging innocently at the Ambassador.

Her mouth tightened and her brow furrowed into a look of deep annoyance, although it didn’t create quite the effect she wanted it to because Alistair merely gave her one of his charming smiles. Cullen had to admit, with her sweet face and ruffled sleeves, she wouldn’t even intimidate a puppy.

“Refuse to take it seriously if you must, Alistair, but you must know that keeping a good food supply for your group is the first step in ensuring their morale remains high,” Leliana scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. Now that Alistair knew about her double-agent activities, it didn’t look like she was going to be deferring to him anymore. If she ever really did in the first place.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. So. Grain supply, riveting stuff, please continue,” he said, bowing his head to Josephine and gesturing widely at the map of the city laid out between them. “Where would we be able to get enough for everyone?”

Cullen drifted off as Josephine began talking, his eyes wandering to the nebulas weaving over their heads and mind quickly sinking into daydream. He wasn’t much use in this meeting, as it turned out, but Cassandra hadn’t come back so at least she wasn’t there to point that out. Still, it was pretty fun having someone around to argue with… Kept him on his toes. If he got too comfortable here he’d let his guard down and that was undesirable in his books. Like keeping the temperature a few degrees colder than you’d like in your room, kept your mind active and sharp, ready for action at all times.

Now that he thought about it, it was a hell of a way to live. But at least it was a way, better than the alternative. And he’d learned from his mistakes in Kirkwall, he wouldn’t let himself get sucked in and played for a dope again, keeping a barrier between him and the Inquisition was a way to stop that from ever happening again. What was the saying? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on-

“YOU CONNIVING LITTLE SHIT!!”

Cassandra’s scream of rage could be heard all the way in the war room, the others jolting and looking up in astonishment. Cullen snapped out of his reverie and spun around, half expecting to see Cassandra behind him.

Josephine opened her mouth to say something, but a splintering crash like furniture being thrown against the wall made her jump, mouth snapping shut in an instant. More shouts and yells could be heard now, along with the sounds of running.

“What in the world is going on down there,” Alistair barked as Cullen moved towards the door, stopping mid-step to turn and shrug at his friend.

“This have something to do with Varric’s friend you were so worried about?” he began, but the door swinging open broke him off.

A runner, breathing heavily, tripped a few steps into the room before stopping and bowing his head quickly. “Madam Ambassador, it’s… It’s Seeker Pentaghast and the dwarf, ma’am, she’s gone beserk! Throwin’ chairs and all kinds of shi- um, stuff at the walls, ma’am! Nobody can stop ‘er!” he gasped, face bright red and eyes wide and terrified. He looked like a scared rabbit that was caught in the headlights of a freighter.

Josephine’s face drained of all colour and she bustled around the table, almost knocking the poor runner over in her haste to get through the door. Cullen reached out and grabbed him before he was shouldered aside, patting his arm absentmindedly as Leliana followed closely behind her, eyes ablaze and face pinched with anger.

“Good…. Good job,” he said to the terrified man before catching Alistair as he left as well. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, voice shaking as they jogged down the hallway to catch up to the two women.

“Buggered if I know,” Alistair replied, shrugging. “But I imagine that the Seeker is not in the best of sorts right now.”

Cullen grunted in agreement as they neared the end of the hallway, a large archway leading to what was commonly being called the Courtyard by the new residents of Skyhold. The largest and least obstructed entrance tunnel led straight into the large pillared hall, rivulets of water following swirling carved patterns on the paving stones around it. It was one of the few places where a few plants could be seen, feeding on the cracks of sunlight that sometimes shone through the rock ceiling. Normally it was one of the more peaceful and quiet areas of the fortress, but not today it seemed.

Cassandra stood in the centre of the hall, her fist balled in the collar of Varric’s fancy red shirt, holding him tight as he struggled aimlessly. Ariana stood awkwardly a few steps away from her next to a tall man who looked vaguely familiar, but the sight of the raging Seeker and her squirming captive distracted Cullen from trying to place him. The crowd around them had pushed back into a circle, staring at the scene unfolding before them.

“Cassandra!” Josephine yelped, rushing forwards and tugging at the woman’s free arm, but she might as well have been a small fly buzzing around the head of an extremely angry bull. She turned to the others helplessly, pleading with her eyes for them to give her a hand.

“Cassandra, that’s enough!” Leliana shouted, launching forwards and bodily dragging the woman away from Varric, arms looping through the others’ and hauling her far enough away for her grip to loosen and Varric to stumble free. Cullen was impressed, clearly the willowy Leliana was stronger than she looked.

“You knew where Hawke was, all along!” Cassandra bellowed, struggling against Leliana’s grip.

 _Hawke!?_ Cullen’s eyes snapped to the man standing beside Ariana, a sheepish expression on his face. By the Maker, he’d changed, it _couldn’t_ be him!

“You’re damned right I did,” Varric shot back, forcing Cullen’s mind back on track, reeling as it was.

“You worthless piece of-“ Cassandra tore herself free and hurtled towards the dwarf again, fist drawn back and swinging through the air as the man ducked. Her feet skidded on the smooth stone and she whirled around, going for another shot but Varric was already scurrying away out of her reach.

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect!?” he shouted indignantly, face red with anger.

Kidnap? Interrogate?? Cullen was dazed, he was completely lost here. His eyes flicked back to Hawke, suspicion rolling in his gut. Was that really him? Something didn’t seem right here.

“HEY!” Ariana finally snapped, marching forwards and standing between them with her hands raised like an animal trainer trying to keep her beasts in check. “Enough!” she ordered, glaring at both of them.

“You’re taking his side!?” Cassandra demanded, taking a step forwards, but Ariana moved into her path and glared at her head-on.

“I said enough, Cassandra!” Her tone was merciless, forcing the woman to back down slightly. But not enough.

“We needed someone to stop the civil war before it spread too far,” she implored to Ariana, trying to get her to come to her side. “Hawke was our only hope, he was the Champion of Kirkwall, the mages respected him! And you…” Her eyes narrowed and she sidestepped around Ariana and marched towards Varric with fire in her eyes again. “You kept him from us,” she growled.

Varric gulped and took a few steps back as she advanced on him again.

“He would have been here! Helping to stop this before it all began!” Cassandra stormed, fists balled at her sides and eyes blazing with anger. If Cullen hadn’t known her, he would have said it looked like she was about to start crying with rage. She loomed over Varric as he stood frozen, chest heaving and face flushed, fist rising as she went to strike him again, fury at his betrayal flooding her eyes.

Before any of them could react, Ariana’s arms locked around Cassandra from behind.

“You can’t change the past, Cassandra,” she said, so gently and sadly that it cut through Cassandra’s anger and she stiffened, face falling as she remembered herself. Her eyes flicked over Varric before a measure of her rage escaped, and she sagged in Ariana’s arms.

“So, I must accept… what?” A harsh laugh coughed out of her. “That the Maker wanted all of this to happen? That he… That he…”

Silence fell over the courtyard as Cassandra’s voice failed her and she dropped her face, all eyes on her and the Inquisitor who was now holding her up, instead of holding her back. Nobody spoke, whispered, or even breathed as Cassandra’s shoulders wavered; all were frozen by the sight of the strong, fearsome warrior fighting to keep her resolve.

 Cassandra drew in a deep, steadying breath and straightened, face set into a harsh expression again. She stepped out of Ariana’s grip and turned to face her, standing at least a head taller than the elf and looking down at her with steely eyes.

“Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake. Even when he was here and could see all this unfolding, he kept Hawke secret,” she snapped, face cold.

“He’s with us now, we’re on the same side!” Varric retorted from beside Hawke, arms raised in exasperation. “Why can’t you _get_ that!?”

“We all know who’s side you’re on, Varric,” Cassandra spat, whirling around. “It was never the Righteous’ and it will _never_ be the Inquisition’s.”

“For the Creators’ sake, Cassandra!” Ariana yelled, throwing her arms up in rage and stomping forwards, placing a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and holding the other up to Varric, forcing herself between the two of them again. “Attacking him now won’t help us!”

“Ha!” Varric jabbed an accusing finger at Cassandra. “Exactly!”

“And _you_ better not be keeping anything else from us,” Ariana snapped at him and his gloating expression dropped, making him growl in annoyance.

“Fine.”

Ariana let out a relieved sigh and slowly dropped her hands. “Ok? You guys gonna play nice now?”

Cassandra’s toe scuffed the dirt and she looked away in admonishment. “He did… bring Hawke,” she mumbled, cheeks flushing a little with the admittance. “Late, perhaps. But Hawke is with us.” Her eyes raised to Varric’s and she glared at him with only someone hidden hostility. It was an improvement.

Varric opened his mouth to say something, but instead just sighed and shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets defeatedly and starting to walk away. As he reached where Hawke was standing, thankfully keeping himself out of the fray, Varric turned and locked eyes that were too sad and too tired with Cassandra.

“You know what I think? If Hawke had been at Haven, he would have died too.” He sighed and turned away again, shaking his head, mumbling something barely audible as he trudged away. “You people have done enough to him. Come on, Hawke. Ruffles,” he called wanly over his shoulder to Josephine. “We’ll meet you in the War Room.”

The hall filled with awkward muttering as life returned back to the crowd. Cassandra huffed and stomped off towards the War Room as Ariana wandered over to the advisors, looking a little guilty.

“Sorry about that,” she said, giving them a cheerless smile. She looked so tired, Cullen realised with a jolt. When he’d seen her earlier she seemed to be keeping it in check but after having to act as referee for Cassandra’s little tantrum, it looked like it was starting to pull at her.

“What the hell just happened, Inquisitor?” Alistair burst out. “I mean, I know who Hawke is, everyone knows, but why was Cassandra all up in arms about him being here? It’s a good thing, right?”

Ariana shrugged. “She was a Seeker during the Uprisings and afterwards she was sent to fight out what happened. I guess the TEMPLARs didn’t want it happening in any other cities with a Circle, here, Ostwick, Montsimmard, if it could happen in Kirkwall it could happen anywhere. But I didn’t know she’d arrested Varric, I joined the Righteous after they were already members. I knew Varric was in Kirkwall when it happened, and that he and Cass didn’t get along but I had no idea she’d met him when she was a Seeker.”

“And now it turns out he wasn’t just living in Kirkwall when it all went to hell,” Alistair groaned, running a hand over his face. “He was friends with one of the guys that caused all of it. Shit…”

Cullen swallowed nervously. He should have known who Varric was, he was there in Kirkwall too, he’d heard of Hawke’s band of misfits and had even met the man himself, but he hadn’t put two and two together and figured that the dwarf Hawke sometimes mentioned was the dwarf he’d met running with the Righteous. Idiot. He just hoped Varric had the foresight to not say that Cullen had been in Kirkwall during the Uprising too, as far as he knew Alistair and possibly Oryn were the only two who knew about his involvement with Meredith and the TEMPLARs, and he’d like to keep it that way. Seeing how Cassandra reacted to finding out about Varric’s secret, he didn’t want to find out what would happen if she knew about him too.

“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in,” Ariana sighed. “We should probably get to the War Room and sort this mess out. I’m sorry I haven’t been here,” she added, biting her lip and frowning at the ground. “I… It was just a bit overwhelming.”

“It’s alright, Inquisitor,” Josephine reassured her, giving her an angelic smile. “We’re all still a little shocked about what happened.”

Ariana returned the smile gratefully and squared her shoulders. “Ok, so, War Room?”

***

Cassandra and Varric were already in the War Room, ice forming in the air between them as they glared at each other across the table. Ariana rolled her eyes and marched around it, grabbing Varric and forcing him a few steps to the left, sandwiching him between Leliana and Josephine like an angry schoolteacher rearranging her class so they wouldn’t fight.

“Ok, so, let’s recap,” she began, placing her palms on the table and looking at the map. “We don’t know where Corypheus is, right?”

“Right,” Alistair answered.

“And we have no idea where he’s going to attack next, yeah?”

“True,” Josephine confessed.

“And we haven’t turned up any leads to see if he knows we’re still alive and living in Skyhold now, correct?”

“Yes,” Leliana nodded.

“Well then.” Ariana bobbed her head and stared at the map. “We’re fucked then, aren’t we?”

“Inquisitor…”

“Sorry, Josephine, but come on, we don’t know who this guy is, not really at least, where he is now or if he’ll attack us again. Call me picky but that’s not a situation I find particularly ideal.”

“Cole is still with us, Inquisitor,” Cullen reminded her. “He was with the forces when they attacked, maybe he could-“

A sound like cracking thunder ripped across the War Room, frozen wind blasting into their faces and thick grey smoke exploding out of a shape hunched over on the table. Cullen’s hand was already on his gun, drawing it out as he saw the others doing the same, the smoke clearing and thunderous crack fading into the stone walls.

Cole was kneeling on top of the map, holding a marker in his pale, spidery fingers and inspecting it closely.

“I came with you to help,” he said softly. “I would have told you earlier but I was… busy.” He looked up, his colourless eyes unnaturally wide in his thin face.

“Cole!” Josephine burst out, her face frozen in fear and clipboard straining between her tense hands.

“Yes?”

“Don’t… do that!!” she hissed, clutching her chest and letting out a shaky breath.

His face crumpled and he looked down, ashamed. “I… I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“And get off the war table!”

Cole looked around himself, confused. “You’re right,” he said firmly. “I don’t belong up here. I’m not a war.” He hopped down and stood in their midst next to a very bewildered looking Ariana, his fists balling awkwardly at his sides.

“How did you… appear out of thin air like that?” Alistair asked, eyes narrowed, gun still raised slightly.

“I wasn’t air, I was here. You didn’t see me,” Cole explained. “Most people don’t until I let them.”

“Oh well, that explains everything,” Alistair grumbled.

“I’ll go and help the others.” It sounded like a question and Cole looked at Josephine for an answer.

She nodded. “Yes, go, just don’t… don’t do anything creepy.”

He nodded and disappeared.

“Anyway…” Ariana frowned and shook her head, as if trying to clear water from her ears. “I forgot what we were just talking about.”

Cullen frowned, finding he couldn’t remember either. “We were talking about Corypheus,” he ventured and Ariana nodded.

“Ok. So our first order should be finding out where he’s going to strike next, yes?” She looked nervously at her advisors. “I mean that’s probably the best idea, right?”

Alistair and Cassandra nodded at the same time. “If we find out his next move, we might be able to start putting his puzzle together,” Alistair said firmly. “And having Hawke here is going to make things easier, he knows more about demon hunting than the rest of us after Kirkwall.”

Varric nodded, ignoring Cassandra’s glare. “Another pair of eyes never hurt, and Hawke knows what he’s doing.”

“That would be true if it was actually Hawke that you brought here,” Cullen said distractedly, eyes fixed on the map. “Shame it isn’t really him.”

Shocked silence met his words and he glanced up, eyes flicking between the stunned faces all turned towards him. The tense quiet stretched on as it dawned on him that the others hadn’t realised that the person standing beside Varric in the courtyard earlier wasn’t Hawke, just a very convincing double, and Cullen had been the only one who’d noticed. His eyes snapped to Varric’s and saw him staring back with angry exasperation all over his face as if to say _what the hell, why would you give that away!?_

His mouth snapped shut and he gulped. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cassandra slowly turning back to Varric and he had no doubt that if he didn’t start talking again, and quickly, she would leap over the table and snap the dwarf in half.

“I… I mean… I’m pretty sure it’s not him, I mean people change and it’s been a while since I last saw… uh… That is… Shit, Varric, you mind jumping in here?” Cullen babbled, sweat beading on his brow as he tried to dig himself out of the hole he’d plopped himself down into.

Varric opened his mouth to talk, but a booming laugh from the open doorway broke him off and they all jumped, turning to stare at the newcomer lounging casually against the frame, arms crossed over his chest and watching the scene before him as if it was a show.

“Very astute, Knight-Commander,” the man said, his golden eyes crinkled at the corners as he nodded appreciatively at Cullen. “And here I was thinking you’d make a piss-poor detective. Ah well, looks like we’re busted, Varric.” The man straightened and held up his hands in surrender. “Might as well revise those introductions.” He sauntered into the room, digging his thumbs into his belt loops and grinning at all of them, the red slash over his nose warping and flexing into a mirrored smile across his cheeks. “Hello everyone, I’m Hawke. The real one, that is. Nice to meet all of you.


	16. Short Drops and Sudden Stops part I: Josephine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok ok ok so I feel like I should explain why it took me this long to write so little. The reason is that, as I mentioned earlier, I just started a new job, and they recently upped my hours to 9 and a half hours a day, plus 6 hours on Saturdays. This means I only get 3 hours a night to relax, eat and do anything that needs doing. And by that time, I really don't feel like doing anything except lying and moaning on my bed out of exhaustion, and especially not writing! However, this should end soon and I'll be back on an 8 hour day, with weekends free, so hopefully I should be updating regularly soon.
> 
> This is the first part of a series of short chapters originally intended as one block, but now will be updated in 3 parts!

 

Hawke’s words hung in the air, stunned silence filling the room like water pressing itself against a dam, ready to burst under the pressure.

“Um, hello? Is this thing on?” Hawke said, tapping an imaginary microphone in his hand, grinning somewhat sheepishly at all of the faces staring at him with mouths dropped open. “You all still with me here?”

“You’re…” Cassandra croaked hoarsely, swallowing nervously and shaking her head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. “ _You’re_ the Champion?”

“That’s me! Champion of Kirkwall. Right here, in…” Hawke broke off and looked around. “Whatever this place is.”

Cassandra’s mouth opened as if she was going to say more but no words came, just a strangled sigh and an angry huff, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. It was the only time Josephine had seen her truly speechless, it was an interesting sight. The others seemed just as stunned, Ariana looked like someone had hit her over head with a frying pan, Leliana looked confused more than anything else, and Cullen looked like he was reliving every bad decision in his entire life. As for Josephine herself, she wasn’t sure what she felt. Stunned, confused, shocked, impressed with the way the Champion’s decoy had managed to convince everyone so far that it was really him, angry at Varric’s betrayal, happy the Champion was here now, it was a lot of emotions to keep track of. Her brow furrowed and she drew in a deep breath, steadying herself before she spoke.

“If you’re the Champion, then who is the person we met earlier?” she asked weakly.

Hawke smiled triumphantly at her. “That was my brother, Carver.”

“Carver!?” Cullen squawked indignantly, face bright red. Josephine was suddenly reminded of a kettle sitting on top of the stove, shrieking to itself as steam hissed out of the spout. Cullen definitely looked like steam was going to start shooting from his ears…

“I’m gonna just…” Alistair mumbled awkwardly, jabbing his thumb towards the door and glancing between Hawke and Cullen. “Yeah.” And with that, he escaped out of the room and the fallout that was ready to crash over all of them.

“Yep!” Hawke nodded. “After Kirkwall went up in not so literal flames, I thought it would be best for all of us to go undercover. Carver and I hatched a plan, and next thing you know, he’s growing out a beard and painting a red stripe on his nose and going around pretending to be me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning like a child at Christmas. “Must say, never realised he was such a good actor. Impressive, really! But he didn’t manage to fool you, did he, Knight-Captain?”

“I knew he couldn’t really be you…” Cullen grumbled, avoiding Hawke’s eyes.

“Aw, you do care!”

“Only because he wasn’t being a complete-“

“Alright!” Ariana cut Cullen off before he could get any angrier at Hawke. “So I met your brother, Carver, why not just come straight to us?”

“That’s easy, Inquisitor,” Hawke said with a wink in her direction, ignoring the glare Cullen shot at him, “I needed to see if you could be trusted.”

“A clever move, really,” Leliana admitted quietly from beside Josephine. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she frowned at the table.

Josephine felt a stab of sympathy for her friend and laid her hand lightly on her back, giving her a supportive smile.

“Agreed. It definitely never came to our attention,” Cassandra grumbled, face still flushed and eyes glowing with suppressed rage, either at herself or Hawke, Josephine couldn’t tell. She wasn’t looking at either Varric or Hawke, but directing the force of her gaze at the table, face downturned almost as if she was embarrassed to look up.

Hawke’s eyes turned to her and he smiled as if realising something for the first time. “Ah, you’re the Seeker who was on my tail for months before you grabbed Varric!” he exclaimed. “You are very good, I must say.”

Cassandra’s face snapped up to stare at him in astonishment, blinking rapidly as if she couldn’t understand the compliment. “You…. You knew about that?”

“Of course I did, you got quite close to nabbing me a couple of times. If Varric hadn’t led you on a wild goose chase with his information, you would have got me for sure. And now that I see you…” His words trailed off as his eyes darted appreciatively up and down her body, and he gave her a glittering smile. “I might have made more of an effort to be caught.”

All the pink that had ebbed from her face rushed back in full force and Cassandra’s mouth snapped shut, the muscles in her neck tensing as she stiffened, eyebrows leaping up to her hairline. “I… uh….” she stuttered, eyelashes fluttering in shock as she gulped, trying to find the right words. “What??”

Josephine stifled a giggle behind her hand. Clearly Cassandra’s obsession with Hawke went further than simple cat and mouse chases.

Hawke grinned seductively at her. “I’m just saying, Varric was right about how… fascinating you are.”

Cassandra’s mouth dropped open.

“In any case,” Josephine squeaked, desperate to get the conversation back on topic before Cassandra suffered a brain haemorrhage, “We’re happy you’re here now, Champion. Will you be staying long?”

“As long as I can,” he replied, sudden weight behind his words as he turned to the Ambassador, mask slipping as exhaustion rose in his eyes before being swallowed by easy mirth again. “I couldn’t really let you have all the fun for much longer without getting myself involved in another adventure, could I?”

“Adventure!” Varric laughed loudly. “Only you would call what happened to us in Kirkwall an “adventure”, Hawke.” He grinned up at his friend, eyes sparkling.

“Of course it was, just… not sure if it was a good one or bad one quite yet,” Hawke replied.

“I’d be able to lend a thought or two on that front,” Cullen grumbled and Ariana’s eyes snapped over to him.

“Wait a second, Cullen, you know Hawke!?” she exclaimed, glaring at him as the realisation sunk in. What with the shock of Hawke’s arrival, nobody had really paid much attention to Cullen’s input on the matter.

Silence fell as Cullen’s mouth opened, but no words came out as he stared around the room, everyone’s eyes now on him. Hawke and Varric were wearing identical expressions of sympathy mixed with apprehension, the former’s lips pressed together and eyebrows raised in the universal expression of “ _should I not have said anything_??”

“Uh…” Cullen managed to croak intelligently as he cursed Alistair for leaving him alone with no backup.  “I…. um….” _For the Maker’s sake, stop sounding so dumb and tell them!_ “I may have met him in Kirkwall.”

Ariana’s brow knitted in confusion and a hint of what looked like anger, as if she was hurt that Cullen hadn’t said anything earlier. “Oh. You… You never mentioned that you were in Kirkwall,” she said, shaking her head, averting her eyes.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he confessed, voice barely above a murmur that was meant only for her.

“Well it’s kind of a big deal!” Her raised voice bounced against the walls as her eyes shot back up, filled with hurt anger which flashed at him before being covered quickly with a glance sideways at the others. “Never mind, doesn’t matter.”

 _Mio dio, she’s really angry at him…_ Josephine thought to herself as her eyes darted over Ariana, a frown cutting across her face as she gauged the woman’s body language. One of her skills as Ambassador was reading people, and Ariana was an open book at the moment, bristling with conflicted anger. How interesting…

“Can we wrap this up, please?” Ariana was saying, and Josephine shook herself inwardly, forcing her mind back to the present.

“Yes, if there is nothing left to say I think we should adjourn this meeting until tomorrow. We all need some rest,” she replied, silently pleading with Cassandra and Varric not to make another scene and kickstart this whole process again.

Consensus rumbled around the room, and the soft shuffling of people gathering papers and themselves together to leave rose behind it. Ariana braced her arms against the table and leaned forwards, stubbornly perusing the map as the others moved towards the door, Cassandra awkwardly skirting around Hawke who watched her with a baffled half-grin on his face before following after Varric. Leliana slinked around the table, quick sapphire eyes darting over the table and once at Ariana, as if completing a mental checklist. Cullen remained where he was, opposite Ariana and watching the top of her downturned head.

Josephine finished gathering up her papers and walked quickly towards the door, pulling it to behind her. She knew she shouldn’t wait outside it, shouldn’t listen to the words being spoken softly in the emptied room, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I didn’t think you needed to know.”

That was Cullen’s voice, lowered, rumbling.

“You don’t have to explain,” came Ariana’s clipped reply.

“But I-“

“Dammit, Cullen!” The sound of a fist hitting the table made Josephine jump and a squeak to escape her lips. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her heart hammering against her ribs reminding her with every beat that she shouldn’t be listening in.

“You got no reason to be on the level with us!!” Ariana had slipped back into her old way of talking, the way she used only when she was so angry she forgot to correct herself. “We all got- _have_ secrets. Things we don’t share, ok? You gotta be really bent to give away all your secrets to a gang you just met. So I get it, sometimes you gotta feed people lines to protect yourself. It’s fine, just…” An angry sigh broke her words apart and she was silent for a moment. “Just forget it.” The words were deflated, tired, withdrawn.

“I wasn’t… I meant to be straight up with you. Really, I did, it’s just…” He sighed loudly, as if annoyed by his own inability to make her understand. “I haven’t been a part of anything for a long time. A _long_ time. I forgot what it was like, having people around that need to know things about you.”

Ariana didn’t say anything, and Josephine found herself craning her neck towards the door, trying to catch anything that was said.

“Forget it,” Cullen huffed, and Josephine heard his footsteps coming towards the door. She leaped backwards into the slight indent in the rock directly beside the entrance, pressing herself into it and hoping that he wouldn’t look back and see her.

“Cullen, wait!”

The footsteps stopped and Josephine let out the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you need to…” Ariana’s words trailed off and Josephine left her hiding place to peek through the crack in the door, her heart hammering in her mouth. Ariana came into view, walking slowly and almost tentatively towards Cullen who was still facing away from her, eyes turned towards the floor and fists clenched at his sides, shoulders hunched and drawn together like an old rag wrung too many times around.

“My darling Ambassador!”

Dorian’s voice blared down the hallway like the offensively loud chorus of a peacock. Josephine whirled around, face burning in embarrassment and leapt a foot away from the door before she even knew what she was doing. The man paraded down the hall towards her, apparently not noticing that she’d been caught spying on the Inquisitor and Detective.

“I have something to discuss with our Inquisitor, would you know where she is?” Dorian continued smoothly, barely pausing to let her answer before flashing her a sparkling grin. “Although I do have some thoughts that may be of use to you, actually. They’re wonderful thoughts, like little jewels!” The many rings he wore glittered as he gesticulated elegantly while he spoke, as if he was twirling the air between his fingers. “You see I have this contact in the Orlesian Quarter, a rather intolerable woman named Vivienne, she’s sent me a message that she would like to be introduced to the Inquisitor at the next possible opportunity.”

“Intolerable? So she’s a friend of your’s?” Josephine asked, voice a little breathy from her shock. She was well aware of Dorian’s colloquialisms, and since he often referred to Ariana, one of his closest and possibly first real friend, as “that ghastly little creature” she assumed this Vivienne was someone he at least considered a fond acquaintance.

“She’s a shrewd, calculating terror of a woman, of course I like her. Just don’t tell her that,” he hastened to add. “Either way, she’s a registered mage of the Circle at Montsimmard, and knows more about Orlesian politics than anyone else. She’d like to meet the Inquisitor at a chateau that her… companion owns. She sings there sometimes , apparently her act is not one to be missed.”

“Alright, I’ll set it up.”

“Thank you, now, where is that awful elf, I need to speak to her about something.”

Josephine clutched her clipboard to her chest awkwardly, unsure if she should let Dorian interrupt Cullen and Ariana’s meeting. “I… uh…”

“Dorian!”

Once again Josephine leapt a foot in the air as Ariana yelled out behind her.

“Inquisitor!”

“Do you need me for something? Other than learning how to co-ordinate colours,” she said with a cutting look at Dorian’s beautifully tailored green and silver silk ensemble.

He placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “This coming from you? The person who thinks the only valid colour scheme is black, grey and the occasional white!?”

“It’s a valid colour scheme for sneaking around, you think anyone wouldn’t notice me if I was dressed like a damn peacock!?”

“Inquisitor, I think I will go and rest,” Josephine interrupted, knowing full well these exchanges could last for hours at a time.

Ariana turned as if noticing she was there for the first time. “Yes, Josephine, go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Josephine searched Ariana’s eyes for any hint of anger or even annoyance that she had been eavesdropping on them, but found none. She was safe, for now, Cullen had not emerged and she didn’t want to be here when he did, today had been tiresome enough without another quarrel on her hands. She nodded gratefully and scurried down the hallway, clipboard clutched to her chest like a snow plough, helping her cut down the winding corridors and sweep past people before they even realised she’d been there. She just needed to rest, perhaps then she could properly sort out the mess of thoughts that were spilling over themselves in her head. A quick rest, and then back to the grind. There was a lot more work to be done if the Inquisition was ever going to get on its feet, and even more than that if they stood a chance at defeating Corypheus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason whenever I go to write Josephine, my fingers make it into Josephone. Rest in Peace Josephine, you are now Josephone.
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes but come on I've been working 9 and a half hours a day cut me some slack!


	17. Short Drops and Sudden Stops Part II: Dorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THE NEW DLC IS A THING HUH??? 
> 
> Also when I get caught in the rain I write about characters being caught in the rain. Basically what started this entire fic, except with snow and cheap coffee instead of rain and nothing.

The rain came down over the city in heavy sheets, plinking against the hoods of cars and thudding on awnings as people huddled beneath the canvas, patiently waiting out the rain as their breath misted in the air, coats drawn tightly around themselves. The light from the streetlamps caught the droplets and turned them into fractured gold for an instant as they fell, tapping on windowpanes and umbrellas like a hundred tiny fingers, the smell of wet concrete rising and drowning out the usual odours of petrol and bins, making the whole city smell clean and new, like an old sweater, freshly washed. Plumes of steam rose from the vents set in the road, mingling with the rain to create a fine fog that drifted lazily over the pavements, swept into swirling patterns by passers-by bustling to get out of the deluge.

Ariana watched the rivulets of water running down the steamed window pane, her chin in her hand and eyes distant. A mug of coffee steamed gently beside her, quite forgotten in her deep contemplation of storm outside. Her coat lay drying in the warm, heavy air of the bar, her umbrella leaning compatibly against it. The occasional rumble of thunder and rush of car tyres through puddles was broken by muffled clinks and sounds of idle chatter, mingling with the sound of the rain pattering against the windows into a heady harmony of people too comfortable and warm to venture out into the downpour. As she watched the lives of others through the window, her hand curled up unconsciously as she saw a couple running frantically through the torrent, laughing as the droplets hit them in the face. The woman slipped, her hand reaching out to grab at the man’s sleeve and he twisted, catching her around the waist before she toppled to the ground and it just made them laugh even harder, his arms bringing her close to his chest and holding her tightly as the rain ran down them in streams.

“Horrible weather, isn’t it?”

Ariana jumped with a slight intake of breath as Dorian slid into the booth opposite her, usually immaculate coat darkened with water. He looked ruffled, cheeks flushed and hair in slight disarray, droplets still clinging to the tousled strands, shaken off as he ran a hand impatiently through it.

“It’s ok,” she replied idly, eyes vaguely watching him tut as he fussed over his appearance before signalling the waitress to bring another cup of coffee.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, taking the offered mug and clasping it between his hands, warming them as he took a long sip.

Ariana shrugged a shoulder. “Just tired. Feel like a cancelled stamp, it’s nice,” she mumbled, finding that she couldn’t bring herself to speak any louder. It felt like a blanket was covering her brain, making her feel warm and heavy.

Dorian smiled. “What a lovely expression. Yes, I can imagine that with all your new responsibilities you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed. How are you handling it?” The shrewdness of his eyes contrasted his airy, casual tone.

“Aces,” she sighed, stretching her arms over her head. “So what’s this about?”

Dorian gave her a sideways glance, but took the bait. “You know how I said I’d told Josephine I had some news to share with you while you were busy being in cahoots with the young Knight-Captain?”

“Detective, and we were not ‘ _in cahoots’_!”

Dorian waved away her red-faced protestations. “Please, anyone can see he’s utterly dizzy with you, but that’s not why I’m here, do try and focus, my dear.”

Ariana glared at him for a moment longer before giving up and folding her arms on the table, leaning forwards and hunching her shoulders. The rain pattering insistently on the window beside her, thunder rumbling distantly as the storm refused to be ignored underneath their small mortal conversation.

“Fine, shoot.”

“Well it wasn’t just that I had a contact who’d like to meet you-“

“Yeah, the lounge singer, I remember.”

Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes. “Stop interrupting me! Anyway, as I was saying, there was other news I thought…. Unwise to share with the rest of the group so easily.” His meticulous Tevinter accent skipped delicately around the underlying message.

Ariana pressed her lips together. “You don’t trust the Warden-Righteous coalition yet?”

“No, it’s not…” Dorian trailed off and waved his hands, frustrated. “I don’t trust anyone except for you, Ari, that’s why I’m telling you this privately instead of marching into the War Room and announcing it to everyone,” he finally managed to articulate, tone dropped as if he was worried about being overheard.

“I get it, it’s ok, Dorian,” she replied, patting his hand on the table and giving him a lopsided, reassuring smile. “What did you want to tell me?”

He sighed, squeezing her hand momentarily before clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “I was thinking, and I’m probably wrong about this, as unbelievable as that sounds, but I think Corypheus is going to go after the Apostates next. Hear me out!” he said quickly as Ariana opened her mouth, a frown knitting across her features. “He’s targeting big groups, yes? The TEMPLARs, the Wardens, now us, this isn’t just random, he’s obviously taking out the powerhouses of the city to weaken us. For what, I don’t know yet, but clearly it can’t be anything good. He didn’t exactly sound like the beneficiary type, going by what you told us.”

“Ok, but the Apostates?  They can barely keep a leader for more than a couple of months before they start infighting again. They were better before that psycho blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, but now they’re all squabbling over whether it was a dumb move or not. They’re not exactly big names around here anymore,” Ariana countered, tone incredulous and one eyebrow raised.

Dorian shrugged. “True, but almost every Mage that wants to forgo the registration here will join them, they might be disorganised but they’re almost as big as the Circle now, and hold a lot of power against the TEMPLARs.”

“Ok, but I still don’t think-“

“Or Celene! If he doesn’t focus on the Apostates then he’ll go after Celene and her ghastly grip over the Orlesian Quarter. She practically runs it, calling herself the Empress with her strange little helper Florianne. They run the joint down there, if he kills her then he’ll hold the entire Quarter in his hand, you see?” Dorian’s eyes sparkled and he grabbed her hands, squeezing them tight enough for her to wince. “He’s not targeting people just because he can, well maybe that’s part of it, but he’s targeting them to weaken the city, so there’s nothing standing between him and his end goal, whatever that is! Take down Denerim, and he’ll have Ferelden in his greasy claws.”

Ariana stared at him, hands still caught in his grip. Her head spun as she thought about his words, and how much sense they made. It was like a web, with each gang at the points, holding the rest of it together. If they were eliminated then it would fall and there wouldn’t be anyone left to stand up against him. Outside, thunder cracked the sky in two as if hearing her realisations, and roaring with anger at them.

“Alright, say… say I believe you,” she started, holding up a hand when Dorian began spluttering protests. “What the hell are we supposed to do about it, huh? It ain’t- It’s _not_ like we can just go to Celene as say, by the way, someone’s probably gonna blip you off.” Her tongue tripped over itself in her frustration at feeling so useless. All that inquisitiing power and what could she do against Corypheus? Zip, nothing, ixnay. Pathetic.

Dorian laughed and shook his head, amazed at her narrow-sightedness. “Why do you think I’ve set up this meeting between you and Madam de Fer?”

“Uh…. Cos you have nothing better to do than introduce me to your stuck-up friends?”

“So that she can give us a way into the Orlesian Quarter’s inner workings,” he continued slowly, as if explaining things to a child. “She’s got more pull than you realise, she’s the mistress of some fancy Orlesian senator who lives there, she sings at the most prolific club in town, and she is the Grand Enchanter of the Circle in Montsimmard. She is…” he broke off, giving a harsh laugh, “definitely more than just one of my stuck-up friends.”

Ariana blinked. Damn, she needed to forget that Dorian was actually fiercely intelligent underneath all those layers of pomp and egotism. Setting all this up within a matter of days? Seeing the big picture they’d all managed to miss while so caught up in the drama with Hawke arriving? When they were busy arguing amongst themselves, his mind had been whirring like a little engine, sorting out all the loose ends and connecting the dots until a pattern emerged.

“So… The Orlesian Quarter, huh?” she managed to finally say, still a little stunned.

He grinned at her, eyes sparkling. “The Orlesian Quarter.”

She couldn’t help but smile back, noticing how his eyes clouded over a little at the smallness of the expression. She was just so tired, still barely keeping her head above water with being the Inquisitor, but she tried her best to smile a little wider, just to stop him from worrying.

“Crazy few days, huh?” she ventured casually as he opened his mouth, a slightly concerned look on his face. “Me becoming Inquisitor, not one, but two Hawkes showing up, I thought Cassandra’s head was going to explode.”

Dorian joined her laughter. “And Cullen too! From what I heard of it from Josephine, nobody had any idea he knew Hawke more than just by name. Strange, small world, isn’t it?” He eyed her shrewdly as she took a sip of coffee and shrugged.

“He didn’t have to tell us anything,” she replied vaguely. “Oryn must have known who he was before she brought him into the fold. The Warden too, Alistair. If they trusted him then so should we.” She stared into the murky depths of her mug, fingers lightly tracing the rim.

“Hm,” Dorian huffed. “I don’t trust anyone, as I said before, not until I really get to know them first. And he’s hiding something from us, Ariana.” His tone dropped and he peered intently into her eyes. “You know that, yes?”

Ariana shrugged again. “We all have secrets, Dorian,” she said gently, raising her eyebrows. “We’re in no position to judge him for keeping his, right?”

Dorian’s mouth formed a thin line as he contemplated her words, frowning and sitting back. “I suppose you’re right,” he eventually conceded. “With the amount of secrets you’ve shared with me, I should really trust your judgement on this, as you trusted me.”

Ariana smiled genuinely then, taking his cold fingers in hers and squeezing them gratefully. He had been the first and so far only person she’d voluntarily told about her past, and she appreciated that he’d never breathed a word of it to another living soul. Pompous, preening, egotistical and short-sighted he might be, but he was a good friend. The best she’d ever had, and she thanked the Pantheon for every day he remained in her life.

But he’d get embarrassed if she said all of that in the middle of a coffeehouse, so all she said was “Thanks, Dorian.”

“What for? Oh, my wonderful company, of course,” he replied jokingly, but squeezed her hand back all the same. “Anyway, I should get going,” he continued, letting go and taking his overcoat off the seat back, shaking it out and letting the warm raindrops drip to the floor. “I have a lot to do, I’ve been contacted by… a member of my family, and I need to figure out how to respond.”

“A member of your family?” Ariana’s eyebrows knitted together. “But you hate your family.”

“And they hate me, wonderful relationship really,” he shot back sarcastically. “But still, one of them sent me a message and I need time to decide what to say.”

“What was the message?”

He sighed and sagged a little before shaking himself and standing up, tugging on his overcoat. “I’ll tell you once I’ve sent one back, how about that?”

Ariana knew enough about Dorian’s relationship with his family to know not to pry any further, lest she get a lightning bolt up her arse. “Deal. I should make tracks too, Josephine’s probably got a mountain of stuff I need to get on top of.”

Dorian groaned in sympathy as she stood as well, placing a hand on the small of her back as the two of them walked towards the door, reaching into his pocket and tossing a few bills on the counter before they left. The rain was still driving steadily down, a strong wind whipping great clouds of spray up from the road and into their faces in an icy burst.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” he cried as Ariana began walking back towards the Griffon’s Retreat, an entrance to Skyhold concealed safely within its cellar. She turned and looked back at him expectantly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her trench coat, collar turned up against the cruel wind.

“Yeah?”

“Someone came into town recently that you used to know, work for, in fact.” Underneath Dorian’s casual words was a line of steel and his eyes regarded her darkly from underneath his drawn brow. “Your former employer, I believe.”

A flicker of shock and rage flashed over Ariana’s face as a fork of lightning ripped the sky in two, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. She looked at him with an unreadable expression, completely impassive and blank.

“Oh? Did you happen to catch a name?”

“Brekker.”

Ariana’s chin lifted ever so slightly as she swallowed, but she merely nodded and turned away.

“Thanks, I’ll look into it,” she called lightly without turning, her hunched shoulders receding into the distance as Dorian watched her go, pity openly mapped across his face. He didn’t need to see her expression, and he could only imagine what she must be thinking at that moment. Sighing, he tugged up the collar of his own coat, stomping away into the dark storm in the opposite direction. Concern filled his eyes the same as murder filled Ariana’s as they walked their separate ways, both becoming anonymous and insignificant against the torrential and unrelenting downpour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: I have my normal hours back, so hopefully I'll be able to write longer chapters, except it will still take me a wee bit longer than normal. Back to normal chapters after this! Hope you enjoy this short coffee break before we head out into the storm again ;)


	18. Wheat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE.
> 
> Yes, I know, it's been an age (a dRAGON age ahaaha) since I updated, but I have a really good reason. I've started to write my actual book! Started meaning I have started finishing off the lore and details and have the first chapter done. But after 4 years of planning, I'd say that's not half bad! So yeah, all my creative energy has gone into writing that and trying not to set the office where I work on fire. Which is the other reason I've not been writing, work has been a real bitch and not in the fun way. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter! It was originally going to be a lot longer but at the rate I'm going it's probably best to just upload it now.

Cullen hunched over the desk, his hands bracing tension running from stiff shoulders down corded arms marred with faint silver shadows of criss-crossing scars to the flats of his palms, pressing against the wooden edge hard enough to make angry red lines on his flesh. If he noticed the pain, he didn’t make any indication, just stood as still and unmovable as a statue, staring stoically down at the photographs in front of him with a thousand mile gaze.

In the photos, a woman laughed back at him.

Her hair was short, choppy, as if hacked with a blade, flying out as she spun around to grin at something just out of the camera’s reach. Even in the greyscale, her eyes were full of fire, glittering, dangerous, wild. She was dressed simply, a well-cut woollen blazer over a plain high-necked shirt, shoulders arched high as her hands thrust into her pockets, neck tilted back elegantly and making the static photograph seem more alive somehow. Underneath the inscription, written in a scrawling hand, told him:

_“Kaira, age 20”_

_“And a half!”_ a different hand informed him cheerfully next to it.

A mixture of a grimace and a smile twitched at the corners of Cullen’s lips as he regarded the exchange. No doubt the first inscription was Alistair’s, he recognised the haphazard way his friend wrote, so the second must be Lady Cousland’s. And he called her Kaira, so this must be before she began going by Elissa. Zevran said she didn’t change her name formally until she married Alistair. Frowning, he shuffled through the rest of the photographs and his careful stacks of information stored neatly inside his head. _20 years old, to think, one more year and this laughing girl will kill one of the strongest Magisters ever recorded._

And if he remembered correctly, going by the faded date at the bottom of the photograph, in one month the rest of the Cousland family will be murdered in cold blood by Rendon Howe, shot with common, vulgar bullets in the hallway of their own house for their youngest daughter to find when she returns, blood thickening over marble tiles as it runs from the bodies of her entire family.

He wished that she could have stayed that same, laughing girl. Fingers moved absently over the slippery finish of the photo as he shifted it to one side, revealing the crime scene photos of Adamant taken over a month ago next to the ones of the Cousland massacre, nearly 9 years ago. They were so similar but so different all at once, where one was scorched, blown apart and bone dry, the other was wet, dark liquid pooling in some areas and sweeping across in grisly trails where bodies were dragged away in others. The ground was blackened by fire here, and impossibly white stone there. Shapes of incinerated bones and flesh littered the ground on one, where smearing handprints and smudges of fallen bodies were all that remained on the other. Both equally disturbing in completely different ways.

Despite his familiarity with crime-scene photos and gruesome remains, Cullen shuddered inwardly. Somehow these photos seemed more real, more visceral, tugging at something deep inside him, perhaps because he felt like he knew the people in them now.

He quickly swept those photos away, revealing the lyrium-lens ones beneath of the same scene at Adamant and the apartments of the murdered Righteous members. The similarities were easier to see here, they were written all over the scenes in wisps of ghostly white lines. Mages and people who studied the physical effects of magic could read the traces like writing on a page, according to Leliana, but he couldn’t see anything more than swirling tendrils of fog. If he squinted and turned his head to the side, he fancied he could make out the faint outline of people, or one person, and when he asked Solas about it the mage had taken one cursory look at the photographs and shrugged.

“It is the person who cast the magic,” he’d said simply, lounging back comfortably in a cozy armchair with a book propped up in his lap. Only Solas would have been able to find the library in the labyrinth of caverns that was Skyhold. It was almost like he knew the layout, completely unaffected by the scale of the place and entirely in his element. Now Cullen had two reasons to be jealous of the strange, quiet professor.

“Can you recognise them?” Cullen had asked urgently, but the elf hadn’t seemed in the slightest bit concerned.

“Perhaps, if there had been a longer exposure and we discovered the crimes earlier. But now, no. How do you say it in investigatory terms? The trail has gone cold? We won’t be able to see any more details from these, I’m afraid. Just ghosts and whispers of destruction.”

The fact that he’d said _we_ , even though he’d just joined their ranks wasn’t lost on Cullen, and once again he had to wonder how close Solas had been to the former Righteous. He and Ariana obviously had a long history which Cullen could only guess at, but Solas had made no mention of being connected to the Righteous. Still, that was a mystery for another day.

Frowning, Cullen turned his attention back to the photographs. The blurry figure he’d picked out earlier still invaded his vision and his brow furrowed even deeper as his eyes flicked keenly between the crime scenes. The way the tendrils curled and swept across the area were remarkably similar. It was obvious that the three apartment attacks were done by agents of Corypheus to strike at the Righteous, weakening them at the joints before taking the final blow to crumble them altogether, but the traces left behind at Adamant were also like that. When they’d first seen the photos, the attack on Haven had happened just afterwards and forced the thoughts of Lyrium Lenses out of Cullen’s mind, but now… Something was wrong. And if the growing prickling sensation up his back and the cold pit tightening in his stomach was any indication, it was something big.

The traces were too similar, the curving white lines too identical, the ghostly figure in the background exactly the same in all three photos. The only difference was that in the one at Adamant, instead of standing the figure was bent, hunched over, as if it was getting up from the ground.

Shit. Shit, shit _shit!_ Were they there when the attack happened? Were they behind all four massacres, the three separate apartments and Adamant, right from the beginning? Had they been hiding in the ranks of the Wardens _and_ the Righteous, a double agent like Leliana, waiting patiently for the chance to strike? And when Lady Cousland took her small team to Adamant to restock, their chance had come. A way to wipe out the Warden-Commander, or make her disappear at least, take out the supplies of the entire gang and severely cripple the secondary leader? Take the Queen from the board and the rest of the pieces will fall soon after. It was a perfect opportunity for the perfect crime, and it made him sick.

Beside him, Kaira Cousland laughed.

Cullen winced angrily and shoved the photos to the side, rubbing a hand over his face and drawing in a deep, steadying breath. He needed to contact Alistair about the mole, they could still be in the ranks of the surviving Wardens, and he should talk to Ariana too he supposed. The Inquisitor, he had to start thinking of her as the Inquisitor first, Ariana second. He closed his eyes momentarily and sat down heavily, both hands now tangled in his hair as he leaned his head forwards, lost in thought. They’d known for a while there was a mole in both gangs, and now he knew it was the same person but there was no way they were dumb enough to stick around after Weisshaupt had been destroyed. They would have booked when the attack on Haven happened if they had any sense, been assumed dead along with the others and joined the Red TEMPLARs. That’s what he would have done, at least. It would have been the perfect plan, betray the Wardens at Adamant, blend in with the rest of the chaos that unfolded afterwards when everyone would have been focused on finding the Warden Commander and then disappear into the names of the dead, a shadow melting into the darkness that now enveloped them.

Absentmindedly, Cullen shuffled through the photos again, the glossy finish squeaking and sliding as he pushed them to one side. The bottom photograph remained, turned over and stuck to the desk, cracking in annoyance as he peeled it up and turned it over.

In that small universe contained in the white frame, two Grey Wardens laughed joyfully, caught up in each other’s arms as they pressed their foreheads together amidst a sea of white dots falling all around them. Underneath was written with a great flourish _“Elissa and Alistair on their wedding, taken by Zevran Arainai, Best Man and Best Friend”._ A smile crept over Cullen’s scarred lips as he gazed down. He’d never seen Alistair looking that happy in all the years he’d known the man, nothing could compare to the complete and utter bliss on Alistair’s face as he held his new wife tightly in his arms, hands pressed against her back as he crushed her to him. Her arms encircled his neck, white gloved fingers disappearing into his hair and messing up the formal style, a wide grin on her face and her eyes squeezed shut as her own hair escaped its rows of intricate plaits. The joy and pure happiness of the scene spilled from the photo and made it burst into a kaleidoscope of colours even though it was only black and white. Cullen could feel it washing over him with a bitter mix of sadness as he remembered the eventual fate of the Warden Commander, and how distant the present Alistair was from the version of himself in the photo. Cullen would have to give the photograph to him tomorrow, remind him of the good times. It would probably just make him feel worse though. Maybe he would hang onto it until they found Elissa Cousland, save it until he could give it to both of them at the same time.

Cullen sighed in annoyance and placed the photo back on the pile with the others, arching his back and cricking his neck. He grabbed a tumbler off the desk and threw open the desk drawer, a bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip rolling forwards and hitting the wooden front with a dull clunk, the golden liquid sloshing enticingly against the bottle’s sides. Popping the cork and letting the rich, tangy smell waft into his nostrils for a moment, Cullen poured a measure that would have astonished even Zevran into the glass and held it up, enjoying the way the light from the desklamp bounced on the liquid like sunlight. Then he knocked most of it back in one.

It had been that kind of a day.

Around 30 minutes passed as he relaxed and let the pleasant sensations of his brain cells being slowly killed of one by one, before the phone started ringing beside him.

Cullen stared dully at it for a moment, the indignant rattling bell taking a while to actually make it through his exhausted and slightly inebriated brain. He considered ignoring it, letting it ring through as he slipped further into his stupor, but good sense won out and with a groan his hand lurched over and clumsily picked the receiver up, pressing it against his ear.

“Hello?” he tried to say, except his tired throat turned it into just “-o?”

A slightly manic giggle came from the other end of the line. “Drunk as piss already, yeah? Nice one.”

Cullen frowned. It sounded like a young woman, her accent definitely from Denerim, and the poorer areas judging by the way she dropped consonants. “Who is this?” he asked gruffly, not in a mood to play around.

“Name’s Sera, Bow said that you might be able to help me,” was her answer.

“Bow? Who’s Bow?”

“Bow! You know, elf, blonde, got those weird face tattoo things. Oh, and just turned into the Inquisi-whatsit. You gotta know ‘er now, right?”

“Arian-The Inquisitor? She said that I could help you?” Cullen rubbed the lines that felt like they were permanently etched into his forehead. “Are you part of the Inquisition?” He held the phone away from his ear as a loud, snorting laugh came from the other end.

“Yeah, I guess so! I mean it’s all good, innit? One minute I’m running with the Jennies, then I get grabbed by some elfy tit on a mission for those religious weirdos, but yeah, all fine and sound with me. As long as I get to play I don’t really care what name they go by now, so yeah, Inquisition it is. And you’re helping the Warden, right?”

“Hold a minute, you were in the Jennies? Am I gonna wake up and find my apartment full of bees if I don’t help you.” Cullen was more than familiar with tales of the Friends of Red Jenny after his TEMPLAR years, horror stories of corrupt politicians finding lizards in their beds, hundreds of the critters all spilling out from under the sheets and huge amounts of cash mysteriously going missing in guerrilla style hit and runs among the nicer things.

Sera giggled again. “Maybe, if you leave your windows open and a lot of honey on the sill, but if you scratch my back I’ll make sure nothing scratches your’s, yeah?”

Cullen groaned inwardly. “Yeah. Right. What do you want? Also how did you get this number?”

Sera hummed mysteriously. “Helps to have your fingers in a lotta jars, and I got mine in all of them. That and other squirmy happy things, get it?” A loud, raucous laugh shouted at him down the phone line.

“What? I don’t-“

“Never mind. Uggghh, you’re no fun,” she grumbled. “We got people in places who can find someone, anyone, as long as you give them the right presents. Ruffles likes those little Orlesian cakes, by the way.”

“Who the hell is Ruffles!? Look just,” Cullen broke off for a moment, gathering his thoughts and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what you want, alright?”

“I want you to get some guys to go somewhere for me. Move those little pieces around the board and get them to skip down my way, right?” Sera began, her tone dropping into something resembling seriousness.

“Some guys?”

“Yeah. Fancy armour, big guns and swords, hate mages, sticks so far up their arses they probably taste wood every time they cough?” Sera laughed again in her maniacal, wild way.

“TEMPLARs?”

“Yeah! Anyway, there’s this town, Verachiel, big arsehole pushing us little people around. Got a tip from one of my Friends that if a bunch of TEMPLARs marched their way around his front garden he’d back down and leave us alone. Think you can help?”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “You know I’m not with them any more right?”

Sera snorted. “Nobody ever leaves the TEMPLARs, stupid. You still know people on the inside right? People who can help? I’m just asking for a phone call, little push to do big things, yeah?”

She was more persuasive than Cullen expected. “And nobody would get hurt?”

“Nope.”

“And it would piss off some noble throwing his weight around?”

“Yep.”

“I’m in. I’ll make the call tomorrow.”

Sera made a loud whooshing noise of relief. “Ta, thought I’d have to come around and put one of my little arrows in you before you said yes.”

“One of your-!?”

“Oh, relax, hot shot, it would just be in the kneecap. Nobody really needs kneecaps anyway, but they get very noisy and waily if you try and remove ‘em. Funny really.”

“I’m pretty sure you need kneecaps.”

“Nah, they don’t,” Sera tutted. “Anyway, thanks. Bow was tellin’ the truth, you’re alright!” she continued before Cullen could retort.

“She said I was alright?” Cullen asked, a little too casually as heat spread up his neck and cheeks.

“Yeah, but for a guy that’s not sayin’ much. Why I prefer ladies, you know? A little less hmph and a little more phwoar,” she replied with an appreciative giggle.

“…Right.”

“Well, see ya!”

And with that she hung up and Cullen was left with the tinny dialling tone buzzing in his ear like an agitated bee. He stood with the phone to his ear for a moment, blinking and trying to gather his thoughts together, scattered around like dropped papers inside his head. What an odd person. But she worked for the Inquisition, at least he thought she did, and “Bow” had given her his details, so she could probably be trusted. Probably. He just had to hope this Verachiel march wasn’t going to come back and bite him on the arse. It would make a nice change from the usual.

Shaking his head, Cullen placed the receiver back on the cradle and ran his hands over his face, feeling the stubble of days’ worth of not shaving. He imagined he must smell a bit too, the reek of old coffee and alcohol mingling with the general odour of a few days without washing. He knew this case was going to eat him alive, but some days it felt like it already had chewed him up and spat him back out. This was one of those days. Fuck, he needed a shower. Shower and a hot meal, sounded as good as when the Maker first gave them the Chant right now.

He pushed back his chair and stumbled around the desk, photographs forgotten behind him. He couldn’t do much else this evening, he could barely walk from standing stock-still staring at the pictures for so long. It was time to wash off the layer of tension and grime and doubt and fall into a deep, hopefully nightmare-free sleep. A smile crept over his face at the thought.

At least, until the doorbell rang.

Head snapping around, Cullen froze mid-step to stare at the offending entryway. _Please let it be a hallucination, please let it be a hallucination, please let it-_

BZZZZZ

A long, low growl escaped him as the sound of the buzzer for getting into the building sounded again. Why, why now, of all times? Just when he was starting to take a break, life sensed it and decided that was a bad move. It was the middle of the Maker-damned night, who would be asking to get into the building now!? One of the other offices perhaps, a secretary due to work late, or an exec who forgot some files. Either way, they’d have to find their own way into the offices because Cullen was _not_ going to go down and answer the door.

BZZZZZZZ

Nope, he wasn’t going to do it.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

No, not in a million years.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Not even if it was Andraste herself come to bestow a wish and a kiss on the forehead for him.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

“ALRIGHT, FINE!!” Cullen bellowed, throwing up his hands and stomping over to the door, flinging it open and stamping down the stairs, the buzzer still screaming insistently at him and growing louder with every approaching step. “Fine! Fine fine fine fine fine fine fine FINE!!”

On the last word he reached the front door and wrenched it open, eyes blazing with fury and lungs filled ready to hurl insults at-

Drenched head to toe, rain coming down in heavy sheets behind her, shivering on his doorstep.

His heart stopped beating in his chest, the air he’d been saving for yelling suddenly stoppered up in his lungs, as if by merely breathing this apparition may disappear into the rain and mist around them.

Her eyes, wider and more desperate than he’d ever seen them and gleaming like pools of mercury in the low, flashing light of the storm, lifted to meet his.

“May I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I can't write Sera very well. Her speech patterns are so tricky to get down! Anyway, as always, if you liked this then feel free to comment and leave kudos!


	19. An Open Letter to the Reader (That's You!)

 

Dear reader,

Ok, I admit, this fic hasn’t been doing as well as it could. last time I checked in, I’d just started my new job and had very little time to write, and eventually my motivation for this one kind of died. I mean I have been writing my actual book for all that time in between, so hey at least I have a reason, right!

Anyway, believe it or not, I’ve been working on the latest chapter for pretty much that entire time too. It’s kind of a tricky one to get down, all I will say about it is the title which is **What Happened To Clan Lavellan?** so you get that it’s a pretty big thing to deal with. I’m now on my third draft which will be 90% action and 10% talk, compared to the other drafts which were 100% talk. I also read through my entire fic again which helped cos damn, it’s actually pretty ok!

That being said, I’m working on it, so this fic isn’t dead and will be continued to be updated hopefully soon.  In the meantime enjoy this letter and stick with me guys, it’s gonna be a good fight up ahead (think the corridor scene in Daredevil season 1)!

-DWM


	20. What Happened To Clan Lavellan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to everyone who stuck with this fic even when it wasn't being updated! Life hasn't been aces at late, so writing was very difficult, but my writers block finally lifted so I could write this for you guys. Ironically, I had to read through the entire fic before posting cos let's face it I forgot all the ins and outs of what's happened. Chapter 10 was great right? Didn't see those twists coming.  
> Anyway I've been really looking forward to fiiiiiiinally sharing Ariana's backstory, so I hope you enjoy it! We get more details next chapter, which will be a lot shorter dw, and then it's time to wrap this bad boy up. 
> 
> Once again, sorry for any mistakes or typos.

 

“Arianna?”

The girl was shivering, dripping all over the front step as the deluge of rain poured down her already drenched coat.

“Hi…” she replied, teeth visibly chattering against the chill. She spoke so quietly that Cullen could barely hear her above the rain battering against the pavement and rooftops of darkened cars.

“Would-Would you like to come in?” he finally managed to say, shaking his head quickly to get rid of the shock at seeing her on his doorstep. He was so used to seeing her at Skyhold, cast in some strange, unreachable dimension that was so separate from reality and the humdrum of his everyday life that seeing her standing on the street like a normal person was somehow deeply unsettling.

She nodded and stepped inside, carefully tilting around him and leaving a trial of sad little droplets behind her. She stood awkwardly in the hallway, the dim streetlight from outside reflecting dully against her wet coat.

“Oh! Follow me.” Letting the door slam shut, Cullen quickly led her up the stairs, heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. What was she doing here? Was something wrong at Skyhold? Had the TEMPLARs found them? No, that couldn’t be it, if it was she wouldn’t be following him silently up into his office, he assumed she’d be at least a little more concerned than she was.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong, why she was there, but his tongue felt like iron locked against the roof of his mouth.

They reached the top of the darkened staircase and he pushed the door to his office open, cringing inwardly at the state of his apartment as it was revealed. Old glasses and coffee mugs littered the floor around his desk, the last dregs left to quietly stew as he lost the will to clean them and began to drink straight from the bottle. Crumpled clothes lay across his bed, creased from where he’d collapsed on top, asleep before it even occurred to him to move them. Combined with the general dust and untidiness, he definitely wouldn’t want to invite a girl up there under normal circumstances. But these days, nothing in his life could be deemed normal.

“You can uh…” Cullen gestured to the chair beside his desk and quickly shoved the pile of papers onto it to the floor. “Sit, if you like,” he finished lamely.

“Thanks,” she replied and sat down, Cullen taking the seat opposite her behind his desk.

For a while the only sound in the room was clock sitting on the mantle ticking away to itself, filling the space with the inescapable and infuriating reminder of the slow and steady passing of time. Eventually it became too much for Cullen to bear and he opened his mouth, ready to blurt out something, anything, when Ariana finally spoke.

“I need to tell you something, and you have to promise not to tell anyone else.”

Her tone was so solemn and grave it made him blink, mouth snapping shut in an instant.

“What do you-“

“There’s something I need to take care of. Now. And it’s not going to be easy or safe or even technically speaking legal, but I need to do it and I don’t want anyone else helping me with this apart from you.” The words rushed out of her, she didn’t even blink or react at all, just stated it in an emotionless tone that made the hairs on the back of his neck lift up.

“This isn’t something I ask lightly, Cullen,” she continued in a quieter, graver tone, barely above a whisper. “If you help me with this then it could be very, _very_ bad, but… I don’t know where else to turn.” Her eyes flicked down at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “So… will you help me?” She looked up at him, irises colourless in the dim light until lightning cracked outside and made them flash like pools of mercury. “Please?”

She was desperate, he realised, desperate and scared and lost, he’d never seen her like that before. Not when they were being chased by hideous monsters through an underground bunker, not after she’d come back to them from the brink of death, never. And that terrified him more than anything, so even when his brain cried out in admonishment, he simply stood, walked over to the door, swung his coat and holster off the rack and tugged them on, turning to look back at her as he did.

“Ok.”

 

***

The black car pulled sleekly through the darkened streets, headlights casting a murky glow on the wet concrete before them. Nobody was out, at least nobody that wanted to be noticed. Cullen would occasionally see a hunched over form in a doorway or lounging in an alleyway, or see the dull reflection of eyes peering out from some dark shadow of a building, watching them pass in the same way that a starving cat watches a mouse. He knew these streets well enough to know that this was somewhere the highlife and glittering civilisation of the city centre hadn’t reached, existing as rivers of depravity and despair amidst islands of wealth and affluence. It made him sick.

“We’re near the Alienage,” Ariana commented darkly as she turned the car down another corner and Cullen saw the tell-tale 3 metre high fence that skirted around the site, and he wasn’t sure if it was to keep people out or keep the elves in. Judging from the rolls of barbed wire running over the top, the purpose wasn’t friendly.

He glanced at Ariana, barely able to see her expression against the glow from their headlights. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly he was worried that her knuckles may burst out of her skin. He wondered what it must be like, seeing her own people fenced in like animals when she was on the other side looking in. Did she live there when she first came to the city? Had she gone from living free with the Dalish to being shoved into a walled slum when she arrived in Denerim? Who would make that choice, he wondered, was the city really worth sacrificing your freedom?

“At least there’s no traffic,” he commented lamely, breaking the heavy silence that had been pressing on his ears like water.

At the sound of his voice she jumped. “Y-yeah,” she replied breathlessly, and he realised how nervous she sounded. No, not nervous, anxious. It was more worrying than nervous.

“Where the hell are we going?” Cullen finally voiced the question that had been sitting on his tongue for the better part of an hour.

She didn’t reply for a while, simply stared ahead of them with a set jaw and a frown marring her face.

“I understand if you can’t talk about it, but you can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

She nodded.

“I know it’s illegal, but I won’t do anything or tell anyone, I swear, I just need to know what’s going on, Inquis- Ariana.”

At the sound of him switching from her title to her name, Ariana lifted her chin, an unreadable expression on her face. She looked almost sad, but determined as well, as if her course was set and she was powerless to fight it.

 “Thanks, I know. It’s just… I can’t tell you until we’re there. But it won’t be long and afterwards I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”

Cullen opened his mouth, wanted to ask more, but decided it was best not to. For the moment she just needed him to help her, no questions asked, no strings attached. He understood better than most why that was needed sometimes. And how could he refuse her? She was more important to him than she realised, possibly even more than he realised himself, he tried not to think of it too much because she was the Inquisitor now and he had to finish this case, but maybe afterwards…

_You’ll what, go for a coffee? Walk along the boulevard eating ice cream together and talking about the future? Wake up, idiot, once this case is over she’s out of your life forever._

He wondered if she ever thought about that too, clearly he was an acknowledged and possibly even appreciated part of her life, she’d entrusted him enough to ask for his help with this, but did she ever think about how he wouldn’t be there one day?

Probably not, she had bigger things on her mind after all, like saving the world from a self-proclaimed demi-God. Kind of put things in perspective, he supposed.

“Before we get there, I just have to ask you one thing,” Ariana said suddenly, making him jolt, thoughts snapping back to the present. “How much do you know about the Coterie?”

That took him by surprise. He was expecting a confession of murder or something.

“The usual,” he answered with a shrug, brushing a hand through his hair. “They were pretty active in Kirkwall when I was there, but Hawke seemed to keep on top of things. Just another crime group, don’t seem to take too kindly to other gangs in their territory. Saw a bunch of them going up against some of the Carta once, fearsome blighters. Fought with pure rage and savagery, we had to get a whole local squad out just to break it up. Why do you ask?”

 “I was just wondering,” she replied.  “You’re right, they do fight like street cats. It’s just how they do things. They’d kill their own mothers if it meant protecting the gang.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Cullen said sardonically, absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of his sleeve and looking out of the window with his brow drawn low over his eyes. “Did they hit someone you know?”

Ariana was quiet for a while. Then she spoke, softly, darkly, murmuring as if to herself and not to Cullen at all. “Yeah. Something like that.” She cleared her throat and shook her head a little. “We’re almost there.”

“Where? You still haven’t told me where we’re going or what we’re gonna do once we get there,” Cullen insisted.

“Relax, detective, it’s not that complicated.”

_Shit, so we’re back to “detective” now. And here I was thinking that we’d made some progress._

“Forgive me, _Inquisitor_ ,” he snapped back, “but I think it’s at this point that you’d tell me where we’re going and what we’ll be doing once we get there.”

Ariana sighed impatiently, before squaring her shoulders and glancing over at him. In that moment she had become all business, all traces of the soft, thoughtful girl from earlier vanishing behind the eyes of a hardened soldier.

“Ok. Fine, here’s the play. We’re going to a building, a skyscraper really. They call it the Interference Tower, or Fear Block for short. Catchy name, right? You’ll be running distraction while I go in, get to the top levels and take care of some… business.”

“Inquisition business?”

She snorted. “Do you really think it would be at this point?”

“No, but I live in hope.”

She laughed darkly again. “Well at least one of us does.” Her right hand tightened around the wheel and Cullen saw the tell-tale wisps of green smoke issuing out from underneath her glove.

“Ok, so it’s not Inquisition. Let me guess, this tower, Fear Block, whatever, it’s controlled by the Coterie?”

“Ding-ding! Penny for the smart boy!”

“And you’re looking for whatever it is they took from you.”

“In a way, you’re on a roll, detective!”

He didn’t know if her joviality at the situation made him feel better or worse. Probably worse. “And you want me running distraction so that you can take point and not have to worry about me seeing you “take care of business”, right?”

That shut her up.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He turned to look at her, seeing her staring straight ahead with a clenched jaw. “You know I can’t let you kill anyone right? Not just because it’s against the law and I’m supposed to uphold it, or because you’re the leader of the united rebellion and we need you to keep your head in the game, it’s because-Dammit Ariana, I _care_ about you! You’re the Inquisitor for the Maker’s sake, you’re supposed to be making things better, not worse by making yet another gang pissed off at us!”

Ariana was silent for a while and Cullen sighed, looking away.

“Ok.”

“What?” he  blurted, looking over at her.

“I said ok, I won’t kill anyone I don’t have to in self defense,” she said lightly with a shrug.

“Oh… well alright then.” Cullen settled back in his seat. That was easier than he thought, which meant she was probably lying. But even then, he just had to trust her judgement on the matter and hope she wouldn’t do anything rash. After all it wasn’t like the whole world was riding on her shoulders or anything.

 

***

The tower loomed over them, all black stone intermitted with sudden sharp white mosaics. On each window ledge thin metal spears jutted up into the night sky, wires draping from each one and making the building look like a large, otherworldly skeletal creature.

“You know why they call it Interference Tower?” Ariana asked, her open coat flapping around her ankles as she shoved her hands in her pockets, going to stand next to Cullen who was staring up at the building with apprehension on his face.

“Those are radio pylons,” he answered, pointing at the spears. “They broadcast a frequency that drowns out most other frequencies when you get too close, or when they’re turned up too high then they can replace most of the city’s stations with white noise.” He breathed in deeply and pressed his lips together, deep in thought. “It used to be controlled by the TEMPLARs during the worst of the gang wars, it helped them stay in contact with squads and meant they could broadcast emergency messages if needed. When the fighting ended, it was sold to the highest bidder which also happened to be-“

“The Coterie. Yeah.” Ariana glared up at the highest point of the tower, the floors slanting inwards and creating a sharp peak at the top of the building. “We need to get to the top floor.”

“We?” Cullen looked sardonically over at her. “Am I allowed to come with you now?”

“No,” she replied in a heartbeat. “I need to get there but you’re going to stay in the control room and guide me through. The entire building is laid out like a maze, cameras at every corner and tons of nooks where archers or gunmen can hide, picking you off before you even know what hit you. You’re going to be in the control room, messing with their systems and letting me sneak through and get to the top before they know what hit them.”

“Fine.” Cullen had resigned himself to his duty of protector and Main Distraction. He’d given up trying to convince her to tell him why they were here. But the Coterie were one of the worst gangs out there, and he guessed that sometimes you just had to fight fire with fire, and if he could get into their systems and cause havoc, and get intel on their operations he could pass onto the TEMPLARs (the good ones, not the Red ones) then he’d turn a blind eye to whatever Ariana was planning. He knew that was why she had really brought him, she may dress it up and say it was for his fighting abilities, because he was the only one she trusted, whatever, but he knew it was because she knew he could never stop her. He would protect her because she was the Inquisitor and was vital to stopping whatever Corypheus was planning at this very moment. And it broke his heart but he knew that in her position, he’d probably do the same damn thing. Revenge was a powerful thing, and sometimes you just had to follow whatever path it laid out for you, just to get to the end and finally be done with it.

“Ok.” She gave a deep, slightly shaky sigh and turned to face him. “Before we get started I just… I just want to say thank you.”

“But we haven’t-“

“I know. But I don’t know how it’s going to go down in there but at least if you’re in the control room you’ll be safe. I just wanted to say thanks before… anything happened. You’re the only one who I could go to with this, you’re the only one who actually understands what it’s like, I think. To have something hanging over you and never being able to get rid of it, having it dictate your life. And if it starts getting dangerous, if your only choice is to leave me, save yourself and let me… you know…” she trailed off, not able to meet his eye. “I want you to do it. Go, run and leave me behind. Because if you died because of my vengeance trip, I couldn’t…” she pressed her lips together, brow furrowed and eyes downturned, fists clenching at her sides. “I couldn’t ever forgive myself,” she finally finished, looking up at him.

Cullen’s mouth turned to ash and he could only stare at her, perfectly shaped almond eyes reflecting up at him like a cat’s, as silver as the moon above them. She cared, he saw in her eyes, she really did _care_. She wasn’t sending him to the control room to keep him in check, allow him to play the game her way by limiting his playing field, she was telling the truth. She trusted him and she wanted to keep him safe, but she needed his help so she put him in the one place where he could stay alive while she risked her life trying to gain her freedom from whatever it was that was causing her so much pain. As the realisation flashed through his mind, his heart broke into splinters inside his chest, and all he wanted to do in that instant was catch her in his arms and tell her that anything she needed, he would be there, he would help her with anything because she was the only damn thing he cared about right now. Let Corypheus take the world, as long as he could have her.

But he couldn’t tell her that, not now. So all he said was the biggest lie he’d ever told in his entire life.

“Alright.”

Ariana sagged in relief at his words. “Thank you. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, eyes returning to their hardened, cold glare as she turned towards the tower. “Ok then. Let’s go.”

 

***

 

Cullen's mouth was dry as he followed Ariana through the underground passage to the hidden trapdoor concealed within its lowest floor. If the monstrous, skeletal look of the Block wasn't enough to put you off then the heavily armed, suited and booted guards stationed at every entrance was. They weren't even armoured,  although Cullen had no doubt that they wore the highest grade bullet proof vests under their slick three pieces, the idea that they were so good at killing that they didn't even need visible armour serving as a massive "Fuck You" to anyone who thought of breaking in. Which just made Cullen want to break in even more.

Ariana led him stoically through the water-logged tunnel before stopping in front of a damp step ladder leading up to a rusty trap door.

"Ok, here we go," she whispered, reaching into her belt and getting out a gun with a silencer clipped to the end of the barrel, Cullen mirroring her action with his own already silenced pistol. With a spin and a click, she checked it before clicking the safety back and holding it at the ready. "You clear on what you're doing when we get inside?"

Cullen nodded, years of TEMPLAR training falling back into place unsettlingly quickly. "We're coming up into a supply closet. We get out, you go left, I go right, get to the control room and take out the cameras on every floor before anyone can see you heading for the maintenance stairwell. After that, I take out any communications systems they have, then watch the way ahead for you," he repeated the plan she'd been drilling into him since they entered the tunnels.

She nodded and handed him a tiny crystalline bulb on the end of a semi - circular wire. "Radio headpiece," she explained. "Dorian rigged it up for when we used to use radio scrambling for strikes so we could still talk to each other." She placed her own band on her head and fiddled with the slender wire attached to the communication crystal until it lay against her cheekbone, the bulb glowing blue against her skin in the dimness. "To activate it just say my full name while keeping a picture of my in your head. It works even for non-mages. Cullen Rutherford," she said carefully and clearly while staring straight at him.

"Ariana Lavellan," he echoed back, hearing the crystal give a small, clear chime as he said the words.

"Right. Good luck," Ariana said, and he heard the words issue tinnily into his ear from the crystal as she spoke.

"Same to you," he replied flatly, palms gripping his pistol tightly.

Ariana squared her shoulders before placing a foot on the first rung of the slippery ladder and began climbing, her hand resting flat on the trapdoor as she reached it. Breathing in deeply, she gave herself a moment to mentally prepare for what she had been waiting to do for almost four years, before straining upwards and pushing the door open.

The supply closet was almost completely black, the only light seeping in from underneath the door and illuminating dozens of boxes and crates piled haphazardly against the walls. From the looks of it they held mostly useless ammunition, but she found a few for her pistol and handed and couple of boxes to Cullen as he clambered out of the hole behind her. After all, she wasn't planning to use her gun much at all, but until she got to her first target it was just that and her knives against a building full of Coterie thugs.

She gave a few signals to Cullen and he nodded, following her orders to take point by the door. So  far she was impressed with his ability to roll with the punches and with every passing second she was more glad to have him by her side.

Ariana leaned in close to the door, straining her ears to hear any movement outside. None came, so she carefully pushed the door open by an inch.

Nobody was in the hallway, and she pushed the door open a little farther, nodding to Cullen and he moved into position, gun raised as he poked half his head out to glance down the other side of the corridor. It was empty as well, and he waved her forwards.

"I'll get to the control room," he said in a low murmur, eyes still darting around them, assessing their surroundings. He looked like he wanted to say more, but all he did was give her a small, wry smile and added "Good luck."

"You too," she breathed and made to walk down the corridor towards the stairwell before turning and regarding him with grave eyes. "And any danger, leave me behind, I mean it."

He nodded. "I know. Hey," he held out his hand to grasp her own, wrapping his fingers around hers and squeezing them tightly. "It'll be ok. Go team Illegal Break In?"

She grinned. "Go team Illegal Break In." She held his hand for a moment longer before breaking away and sprinting down the corridor.

Cullen watched her go before squaring his shoulders and raising his gun, heading the opposite way down the corridor. He just hoped she found what she was looking for before too many of the Coterie noticed they were there, he didn't exactly relish the thought of returning to Skyhold alone. Not that he would anyway, after all, he was with her 100%, even if she'd made him say he would leave her behind.

 

***

Ariana jogged down the hallway. She hoped Cullen would be alright in the control room, but with his TEMPLAR training she supposed she shouldn’t be. After all, he was trained to hunt and kill mages of all people, and they were much harder to deal with than some Coterie thugs, so he should be fine. Should be.

She forced her mind back to the present as she reached the stairwell, tucking herself into the small alcove before the thick metal door which was her first marker. As soon as she stepped into the stairwell, she’d show up on the first load of cameras and then on every single one after that on each floor and she had a lot to climb before she was able to pop out into the corridors again. Until Cullen disabled the systems and did his first task, she had to wait until he gave the signal, her heart rising to beat uncomfortably in her throat as she waited.

_Come on Rutherford, what are you- There!_

The lights around her flickered and died, the deep red of the emergency strip lighting down the walls blossoming to life before failing as well. Ariana grinned. Nobody could work their way around a TEMPLAR security system like a former TEMPLAR officer, and nobody could fight in the dark quite like an elf. With that knowledge tucked safely in her chest, and the deadly smile still on her lips, Ariana pushed open the door and shot up the stairs like a bullet released from an impatient gun.

 

***

Cullen, in fact, had managed to run into some trouble. As he neared the control room and jogged down the last few feet of empty corridor towards it, a guard had come around the corner holding two steaming paper cups of coffee. The two had stared at each other for a moment, too stunned to properly react as their brains sluggishly processed the thought of _“What the fuck are you doing here?”_ , before the woman had let go off the coffee to snatch her gun from her holster.

Unluckily, Cullen’s gun was already drawn, and the guard was dead before she hit the floor.

 _Two cups, for one guard?_ Cullen mused as he tucked his gun in his waistband again and grabbed the woman’s ankles, dragging her back the way she had come. _Doubtful. So your friend must still be in the control room._

Dusting off his hands, he stood in front of the security room door and bounced on his heels a little before rapping sharply on the metal with his knuckles.

“Dozer, is that you?” a rough male voice said from inside.

Cullen grunted in what he hoped was an affirmative manner.

“Maker’s balls, open the door yourself you lazy sod, I ain’t letting you in.”

Another, less affirmative grumble.

“Fine, but it’s only cos you bring me coffee, even if it does taste like lukewarm shite.”

Cullen could hear footsteps approaching and he drew his gun, stepping back a little and holding it at the ready.

The man who opened the door and found himself looking straight down the barrel of the gun was shocked to say the least. He froze, jaw slack and mouth dropped open into a comical “o”.

“Wha-“ was all he managed to say before the butt of Cullen’s gun slammed into his temple and he crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

Cullen whistled tunelessly through his teeth as he dragged the unconscious man out of the room to join his female companion before casually strolling back and slamming the door shut behind him. The heavy bolts slid across at his command on the panel next to the door, and the outside world was covered by the heavy, low hum of computers and gentle, rolling clicks of footage being recorded behind him.

Ariana must be in position now, he realised as he cracked his knuckles and sat down on the rickety office chair that was in front of the wall-long clunky terminals. TEMPLAR built, so it should be theoretically easy for an ex-TEMPLAR to decipher. Theoretically. He frowned before beginning to fiddle with a few dials and tap on the typewriter in front of the terminals, wires stretching from the back to hook it up to the security systems. The large electrical input gauge in front of him began to decrease, but stopped once the needle hit the “Danger – Input Low” mark.

Scowling, Cullen reached under the terminals and tugged one of the metal panels off, checking underneath and pulling a few wires out. He realised he must look like an idiot, but sometimes randomly pulling out wires did the trick.

The input needle immediately dropped to 0, the shaded lights beside him fading into blackness. _Ok, so that looked like more or less the right thing to do, maybe I’m better at this tech junk than I thought._

A button underneath the gauge lit up and started to flash in angry red at him, informing him that emergency lighting was now on throughout the base. Well, he didn’t want that, so Cullen shoved himself to the side, gliding across the section of TVs showing confused hordes of Coterie thugs, and came to rest by a panel of complex wires and plugs set into the wall. Complex to the untrained eye, but his tech training was starting to come back to him in full force, so turning the systems around to suit his whim was easy. A few wires pulled out, some plugged back in in different places, a few breakers flipped, and the button blinked off.

Cullen whooped inwardly. _Ok kid, it’s up to you now._ His good mood sobered when he realised that Ariana was now completely in the dark, alone, and facing more Coterie guards than they expected. No, that was wrong. She wasn’t alone, he had already resolved himself to stay and help no matter what, and if anything human guards were more at a disadvantage because of the dark because elves could see almost perfectly in any light. They were more at her mercy than she was at theirs’, and ten to one chances of survival sounded better when the ten were blind and the one was a trained killer with night vision.

Cullen flipped a few more dials and typed another command into the strange electrical typewriter and the number along the bottom of the TV screens next to the date flickered and changed from five to one. That meant it would only show in one security office, and he would be able to guide Ariana through the building without the other guards knowing where she was. It was just them now, his eyes guiding her movements, and he just hoped she had better luck reaching her first marker than he had, finding those two guards had been a bit too close for comfort.

 

***

 

Ariana, as it turned out, was not having better luck. The coterie had got better since she last tussled with them, the men were clearly more trained, used more advanced weapons, and adapted quickly to unexpected situations. As a result, she'd only had a few minutes in the stairwell before she heard the thuds and metallic clanks of locks sliding shut on the floors above her, the sound echoing down the long, narrow shaft the stretched up above her like the throat of a giant beast. A small, chocked gasp issued from her mouth and she leapt up the last few steps, launching herself at the closest door and barely getting her foot through before the automatic locks slammed the opening shut with a final sounding bang.

"Well there goes that plan..." she muttered to herself, running her hands through her hair and glancing around, mind wiring in thought.

"What? What happened?" Cullen's voice asked tinnily in her ear.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," she replied lightly, looking around for an alternative route up. "Just five floors below where I wanted to be."

"Shit." Ariana heard tapping from Cullen's end of the line. "Automatic lock down includes maintenance stairs, I'm sorry, I should have known."

"It's ok," Ariana reassured him, grinning as she caught sight of some lift doors. "You manged to do everything else." Having someone to talk to, even if it was only softly, was nicer than she thought it would have been. Cullen's voice was gentle, deep, always with an edge of formality that his time as PI, away from the rigidity of the TEMPLAR Order, hadn't managed to dispel. She found herself smiling slightly at the thought of a young Cullen in TEMPLAR gear. For some reason her mind made the uniform several sizes too big, and imaginary Cullen kept shoving the sleeves up with a petulant look inside her head.

"What was it like, being a TEMPLAR," she wondered aloud, voice strained as she forced the lift doors open, gears groaning.

"Where did that come from?" came the sardonic reply.

"I just was thinking about what you were like when you were younger," she continued, realising how that sounded as the words echoed tauntingly back to her as she poked her head into the now open lift shaft. "I mean... What being a recruit must have been like!" she finished hurriedly, blood rushing to her face and thanking the Gods that he couldn't see her. She distracted herself by taking a few steps back and leaping into the shaft, hands grabbing the thick, rusty cables inside. The oil in the grooves of the cables immediately made her hands slick, but she was used to clambering on rain-soaked rooftops and dewy tree trunks, so it didn't bother her.

"It was... Difficult," Cullen said, the soothing timbre of his voice settling her vertigo-spooked pulse.

"Yeah? How so?" Ariana voice came out in grunts as she started her long, strenuous climb up the cables using only her hands and knees.

"I was a child when I joined, barely above conscription age," he replied. If he wondered what she was doing, he didn't voice it. "I was smaller than the rest of the recruits, so I felt like I had something to prove during my training in the Academy. I pushed myself hard, rose quickly to the top of my class. Gifted, they said." He gave a short, bitter huff of laughter. "Bullshit, I said. I was no better than the rest of them, I just had something to prove."

Ariana waited for him to continue, sweat beading on her brow from the effort of dead lifting herself up a slightly slippery surface while fully geared. After a few more pulls she paused, wrapping one arm around the cables and shrugging her long leather coat off, sadness tugging her as she let it drop down into the darkness below. Shame, she loved that coat, but with her knives, gun and toolbelt strapped to her clothes underneath, it was just dead weight.

"So did you get posted off to a Circle as soon as you graduated?"

"Yes," he replied, a little too quickly. "Calenhad."

Something inside her flared in recognition of the name. "Isn't that where the massacre happened? The mages all went berserk and started killing each other?"

Cullen sighed, the sound rushing over her like a cold breeze and she shivered in the lift shaft. Dead climbs were the worst but she must be halfway there by now. At least it was easier than maintaining her stealth skill and trying to climb up a blood soaked spear inside a room of manic Red Templars.

"Yes, but that's not what happened."

"Oh? Sounds like one hell of a story," Ariana prompted, pressing her lips together in exertion. "Not like I'm going anywhere, I've still got a few more floors to go and this lift shaft isn't exactly thrilling."

Cullen chuckled in her ear. The expression sounded almost fond, and if Ariana was one of those women who seemed perpetually preoccupied with male attention she probably would have swooned pathetically. Luckily, being who she was, she only swooned a little and just internally. Not that a darkened lift shaft left much atmosphere for proper swooning.

"I was wondering what you were doing," Cullen was saying. "Alright, where to begin... It wasn't all the mages’ faults, it was actually mainly the senior enchanter and then a few others who managed to turn a lot of the Circle against their situation. They started practicing Blood Magic, and by the time we noticed it was already too late, they'd grown too powerful to be stopped by normal methods. They overpowered us, and I spent a week trapped in an enchantment until reinforcements from Kirkwall arrived and the Knight Commander released me."

All of this was said in such a matter of fact way that the brutality of the story crept up slowly on Ariana like a rotten smell the more she thought about it.

"Trapped in an enchantment, what does that-"

"It's like being paralysed, with pressure from all sides, and demons surrounding you and laughing while they peel away your mind layer by layer," came the clipped response, and Ariana immediately regretted asking when she heard the thinly veiled pain in Cullen's voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," he broke her off. "It was what it was, and if it wasn't for Knight Commander Meredith I wouldn't still be here. I owe my life to the Order, despite everything they've done, I always will."

Ariana frowned, biting her lip. "Is that why you're still loyal to them?"

There was silence on Cullen's end of the line. Ariana could see her floor looming above her and wondered if he'd reply before she reached it. It's a shame it takes a clandestine field trip to get us talking properly, she thought.

"I suppose," he finally confessed in a soft tone. She imagined him hunched over, rubbing the back of his neck like he always seemed to do whenever he was uncomfortable. "I used to think the Order was everything to me, but so much has changed. They've changed. And with all that's happened, my loyalties lie... Elsewhere. With you."

Ariana's heart gave a wild leap.

"Inquisitor."

Oh. Right. He means he's loyal to the Inquisition, that we're important to him, not me personally.

Shit, why does that bother me so much?

_For June’s sake, Ariana, focus! You’re almost there._

Ariana tried to drop all thoughts of Cullen and his loyalties from her mind as she reached the last floor, leaping and grabbing at the narrow strip of flooring by the elevator doors.

“Cullen, can you be a dear and open the doors for the lift on the fifth floor please? If there are guards then just shout so I don’t, you know, die or anything,” she asked, agitated muscles already straining at holding her weight up for so long.

There was a small ding and the doors slid open.

“Thank you.”

Ariana pulled herself up and over the threshold, rolling into the corridor and laying on her back for a moment, letting her pulse settle before forcing herself up. The corridor was empty, which was a good sign. She just needed to grab one thing from this floor and then she could get onto her real target, 20 storeys above her. Speaking of which…

“Send the elevator back up to me,” she commanded into her earpiece, words barely above a whisper as she crept along the wide hallway past mirror-like windows leading into abandoned offices and archives. Her goal was directly in front of her, hidden behind a large metal vault door. “And maintain radio silence until I give the all clear.”

“Copy,” Cullen replied tersely.

Ariana squared her shoulders, unsheathing her silverite daggers from her thigh holsters and spinning them a few times in her hands. Her leather climbing boots crept silently down the carpeted hallway, eyes darting from side to side and knives ready to slash anything that jumped out at her. This was too open, there were too many hiding places. She needed to get to the vault, and quickly.

As she reached it, she realised that getting there was the easy part, getting _in_ would be a lot, lot harder. Two feet of bolted metal lay between her goal and her, and the only way in was with a code Brekker _must_ have changed by now. No way would he keep the same code, not after everything that happened. Still, no harm in trying. Sheathing one of her blades, Ariana paused before quickly typing in the 12-digit code into the small panel beside the massive door.

_Please work, please work, please- Yes!_

Ariana’s heart leapt as she heard the tell-tale grinding shriek of the metal bolts pulling across, the hiss of escaping air blasting a brilliantly cold, coppery breeze into her face. She grinned, giddily pulling the door open with a heave and slipping inside.

“How did you-“

Cullen’s blurted question that she really didn’t want to answer cut off as soon as she stepped into the vault. Her boots tapped on the pure white laminate flooring, and silvery light rose at her entrance, bathing her in a moon-like glow. The outside systems didn’t work here, it was a blackspot, completely untraceable on heat sensing magic and not included on any building plans. It was a haven, a forgotten sanctuary, and tears rose unbidden in her eyes as nostalgia curled around her heart. In everything she was happy to leave behind, forgetting this small, white room was the only part that actually had hurt.

Her fingers traced the edges of the shelves set deep into the walls as she walked forwards, smiling at the contents like they were old friends. If anyone had seen her, they may have thought it was a strange scene, the thief in a hidden vault looking at the contents with an adoring gleam in her eyes, but to Ariana it was completely normal. These weren’t just things, anyone who looked at them would just see weapons, deadly ones, tools made for killing, but to Ariana they were so much more. They were tools, yes, but the same as any paintbrush or musical instrument, death was just an unfortunate side effect of their use. They were beautiful, shining swords that looked like the stuff of legends and heroes, shields that were as thin and light as gossamer threads or spiders’ webs, but could stop a bullet with ease. Obsidian daggers that made her ones look like butter knives, their diamond-sharp edges shimmering like oil in the glow.

Her eyes lingered on these friends for a moment longer, heart racing in her chest before she finally cast her gaze towards the one weapon that truly, deeply mattered to her. She couldn’t believe it was still there, it could only be used by her and once she left she was sure Brekker would melt it down, or try to at least. But there it was, sleek, black, lines of silvery light tracing the long, elegant curves and sinking into the matte abysses of the handle of the most beautiful bow ever seen. It had no string, it didn’t need one, just the long arms and spiked grip that made it look like the shadow of the weapon more than the weapon itself.

Trembling fingers reached out and ran along the velvety grip, then long the blades of the arms so smooth it was like touching water. Two triangular spikes jutted out either side of the grip, grooves etching into impossibly complicated linear puzzles all cross the matte surface. Ariana carefully lifted it off the stand, feeling the perfect balance, the familiar vibration from where her skin touched its black surface that let her know that it still remembered her, it had missed her, but not nearly as much as she had agonised over its absence. The leather quiver was still there too, full of sleek black arrows ready for the taking.

Knives clattered to the floor as she turned on her heel and swept out of the vault. She’d keep the silverite ones, they were too much like old friends to discard so casually, but all the rest just felt like an insult to carry when the only weapon she had ever needed was finally back in her hands.

 

***

Cullen’s finger tapped impatiently on the desk. What the hell had just happened? The radio had cut off, and he knew Ariana asked for silence, but how the _hell_ had she known the code to get through that door? This whole thing was too convenient, how she just knew the building layout, knew what the security systems were, and now the code for a vault too? He respected that she wasn’t going to tell him everything about her life, but this seemed like something too big to hide, especially for a job like this.

_You have access to all the files right in front of you, why don’t you just look it up?_

Cullen stiffened at the thought. He couldn’t do that, that would be a massive invasion of privacy, but… If she wasn’t in the system then he would have nothing to worry about, and if she was… Well, it might just answer some questions. He frowned, wrestling with the idea for a while, but eventually his curiosity won out and before he could second-guess himself, he typed Ariana’s name into the typewriter keyboard, the words appearing in bright green on the small screen just above where it was plugged in.

 

SEARCHING… PLEASE WAIT

 

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.

 

RESULTS FOR SEARCH: LAVELLAN, ARIANA

1 ARCHIVED RESULT FOUND

 

Cullen’s heart stopped in his chest, eyes fixed on the last line. One result. She was in the system, and had been for a while, it seemed. A voice in his head screamed at him not to open it, not to read what was written there, that it might ruin everything he’d thought about her ever since she saved his life what felt like years ago. But he was only human, and he couldn’t stop the relentless curiosity inside his gut. He pressed enter, and the file obediently opened in front of him, his eyes scanning the contents of their own accord.

 

_Oh… shit!_

***

 

Ariana’s feet slammed onto the carpet below, head snapping up to survey around her. As the lift reached the 18th floor, it had stopped suddenly, and no matter how many times she’d asked Cullen to get it moving again he had only responded distractedly, so she supposed he was running into some technical problems. When she realised that she’d have to fight her way up to the 20th floor on foot, she’d braced herself against the roof of the lift, using her knife to reflect the corridor beyond as the doors opened.

It had been completely empty, and an uncomfortable feeling of dread was starting to roll in her gut. The 18th floor was a problem and she really didn’t want to fight there. It was like a maze, built specifically for defence and ambush in case anyone got that far, the last line to be held before the uppermost floors where the Knight-Commanders and her subordinates would be in a crisis. And now Ariana had to fight through it and judging by the lack of guards everywhere else, they weren’t planning to make it easy.

“Cullen, how many guards on this floor?” she muttered, creeping forwards.

There was no reply.

“Cullen? Cullen!”

“Twenty-nine,” came the sudden, gruff reply.

“Ok. I estimate around eighty Coterie hold this tower at any one point. Twenty-nine on this floor, thirty on the other floors before the emergency lockdown stopped the elevators and they got trapped, so… another twenty on the 19th floor?” Ariana thought aloud as she reached the first bend, pressing herself to the wall and using her dagger to reflect around the corner. Nobody again.

“Yes, that’s what I see too. I’d suggest going into radio silence again. Element of surprise and all that.”

Was Cullen brushing her off? Ariana frowned as she proceeded down the hallway. “Alright,” she said haltingly. “I’ll let you know when I’m through.”

Only silence answered her, and her frown deepened. How strange… Should she go back? No, that would be stupid, she’d come so far and she was so close to finally getting what she wanted. She couldn’t turn back now.

A small, shuffling noise snagged on the edge of her hearing, and she stiffened, dropping into a fighting stance, dagger in one hand, bow in the other, ears pricked up. Someone was here. Around the next corner maybe? She stepped forwards carefully, feet not making a sound on the carpeted floor as she crept forwards like a cat towards prey. As she reached the next corner, she crouched, the sounds definitely more defined.

Three guards, no, four, waiting for her. With guns? Yes, she could hear the metallic slide of hammers being clicked back, ready to fire. They had the drop on her, but they were still green. A smile sharper than a blade crept over her face as she slid her dagger back into the holster, holding her bow at the ready. Her fingers tightened on the grip and a vibration hummed through her palm, a bright, ghostly blue bowstring appearing from each end of the arms. She notched an arrow and took in a deep, steadying breath before kneeling and taking careful aim at the wall opposite and slightly to the left, arrow pointing towards the metal plaque denoting the floor number. In its reflection she could see the warped shape of a man, and she let her mind settle for one second longer before letting the arrow fly towards its mark.

It shot through the air with a glorious whistle, pinging off the plaque and singing straight through the chest of her target.

_One down._

Her feet kicked off the ground and she rolled forwards, shoulder hitting the opposite wall as she shot up and sent another arrow flying into the second thug. Spinning to avoid the bullet finally flying towards her as their companions recovered from the shock, Ariana took a sharp breath in and dropped into stealth, vanishing in a cloud of thick grey fog.

The guards lowered their weapons, looking at each other in confusion.

“Where-“

The words were barely out of his mouth before a dark, curved blade burst from the centre of his chest, blood exploding out of him in a spray. The other man gave a sharp cry and raised his gun as Ariana reappeared, mist curling around her eyes which burned through the fog like twin beacons. She wrenched her blade out of the dead man’s chest and twisted to the side, swiping the last guard’s feet out from under him and dropping to one knee as he fell face first towards the ground, impaling himself onto her other knife.

The fight, if you could call it that, lasted just over a minute.

Ariana kicked the man over, tugging her blade out from between his ribs and feeling the bones grate against the metal. She straightened, holding the twin black daggers together hilt first and letting the magic of the weapons fuse them into the bow again. Four down, twenty five to go. She needed to stop worrying about Cullen so much though she mused as she ran down the maze of corridors, that fight should have been over in one move but she was rusty and Cullen’s silence pre-occupied her mind.

_Come on, get your head out of the clouds and let’s get this done. You can yell at him later._

Ariana shook her head and set her jaw, sprinting down the hallways until she reached the next hurdle. A large room lay just beyond the double doors she now stood in front of, and she knew that would be full of Coterie. As soon as she opened the door she’d give away her position, and be completely open to bullets and any shots of magic they threw at her, if any. She wrinkled her nose in thought, looking around desperately, then grinned as her eyes caught sight of something on the wall by her feet.

A grated vent door, just large enough for her to crawl through.

Well if it worked for the Red Templars, it should work for the Coterie too. With a grim sigh, Ariana headed for the opening. This would definitely ruin vents for her forever.

 

It was dusty, cramped, and freezing cold, but it had the bonus of not being suspended above hundreds of manic, rabid Red Templars, so Ariana preferred it immensely to the vents at Haven. Still, she didn’t want to spend any longer there than she had to, especially after seeing something furry and with three too many limbs scuttling across one of the junctions. She shuffled quickly down the vent, stomach clenching every time her bow gently scraped across the metal walls.

Finally (she inwardly cheered) she reached the grated trapdoor of the next opening, and she pressed her forehead against it, trying to see what she would be up against.

Ten people scattered between the desks and typewriter terminals, no mages thankfully, but they were all armed with guns. Looked like the Coterie trend of hiring mainly former thieves and low-lives was still going strong, hiring un-registered mages drew too much attention from the authorities. Still, she expected she’d run into one or two before she reached her goal.

Her stomach turned as she saw a few elves in the crowd as well. That hit a little too close to home, but she had no choice. What she was planning to do would ultimately free dozens, or hundreds of their kind from the future clutches of gangs anyway, sacrificing the few to save the many. The justification rang hollow against her soul, but she ignored it.

She brought her bow forwards and with a sharp twist, the two pieces came apart. There was one guard just in front of the opening, and another just next to them, she’d have to deal with them first. Time to go into stealth again, it seemed. Placing one dagger carefully down beside her, Ariana let the cold, creeping sensation of nothingness envelop her, then began to ease the vent open with invisible fingers.

It tapped down gently on the carpeted floor, as quiet as a bird feather landing on the ground.

Ariana unfolded herself from the vent and stood directly behind her first target, dagger poised by the exposed skin of his throat.

_3… 2…. 1_

The blade reappeared, millimetres from flesh, a distance that was quickly closed as Ariana sliced through his throat before he could even realise what was happening. With a sharp spin, she whirled her other dagger into the back of the guard next to him before reforming her bow and sending an arrow flying towards the head of another guard, two ghostly blue arrows splitting off from it and slamming through the eyes of the people at his sides.

Her targets crumpled to the floor as one, and Ariana dived behind the desks as the first bullets began to fly in her direction.

One breath, that was all it took to kill five people.

Bullets slammed into the thick wooden front of the desk, wood splintering off from the impact and sending dust flying through the air like snow. Ariana’s body sang with adrenaline, but she forced herself to wait, holding for the moment to strike. One second more, and… now!

The onslaught paused for a second, thinning enough for her to leap out from cover and vault over the desk, arrows whistling through the air before she’d even landed, bow twisting apart into daggers again as her feet slammed to the floor. Her body twisted to the side and she danced in ever moving spirals to avoid being shot, and she vaulted over another line of desks to stab two more thugs through the chest before crouching behind cover again. How many were left? Two, on the opposite sides of the room. No time for finesse, she needed to get this done.

Sliding over the desk, Ariana sprinted headlong towards the two guards cowering behind cover, skipping from side to side to avoid their bullets before leaping across the tables and using her momentum to slam her blades through their chests. They fell backwards, and she followed, landing heavily on her knees.

_Fourteen down._

No guards stood in the next corridor, but they wouldn’t have been able to stop her anyway, she was little more than a blur dashing down the endless corners and hallways towards the next room. Her blood was fire, scorching through her and setting her mind and muscles ablaze. The next doorway loomed before her, the doors flung open and the interior of the large room with double the guards from the last one already visible. They didn’t care, she knew they were there. Both groups had stopped playing, ready to throw themselves into the fight like single-minded battle-fodder.

Her arrows slammed through the skulls of the two guards either side of the door, their necks snapping back and spraying blood through the air like scarlet rain. She ducked, throwing herself forwards and down and somersaulting through the air to leap up and slash her blades across the body of the next, unfortunate guard who stood in her way, twisting the dagger in her hand to stab it backwards through the heart of the thug rushing at her, metal pipe raised above him like a baseball bat ready to crash down on her skull.

 _Pitiful effort,_ her mind sneered and she disappeared into stealth again, zipping unseen across the room, no cover offered to protect the guards from her wrath this time.  A group of them were standing close together, back to back and near the wall as if that would help them.

It wouldn’t.

Ariana sprinted towards the wall, leaping up with one step and launching herself towards the guards. Her stealth ran out mid-jump, the first guard suddenly confronted with a rage-fuelled elf emerging from the air above them in a cloud of fog, eyes ablaze and black daggers pointing directly down at his heart.

They slammed into their mark, both Ariana and the guard falling to the floor and making the others jump backwards with mixed screams of fear and shouts of anger.

The knives slashed upwards, and Ariana let her mind go as she sliced across, stabbed down, spun and twisted, kicked and slashed in a deadly blur of blood and dark blades until none were left standing.

Silence draped over the room like a funeral veil, and the bodies crumpled to the floor around her.

Ariana stumbled backwards, the oxygen around her seeming like too much suddenly as her thoughts started up again. Pain flashed over her left arm and she winced, looking down and seeing blood pouring from a hole just below her shoulder that hadn’t been there before. She let the bow re-fuse and clutched the wound, the hotness of the blood burning into her palm. It wasn’t too bad, luckily. She ripped the sleeve off her shirt and bound it tightly around the wound, wiping her wrist across her face and smearing the blood that had been splattered there.

She was almost there, she couldn’t allow this to stop her now.

Shakily, she jogged out of the room, sluggishly at first but then faster as the adrenaline kicked in again, singing through her veins like liquid fire and making her feet, like iron weights, move of their own accord towards her goal.

 

***

Cullen couldn’t believe what he was reading. This couldn’t be true, none of it, surely it must be some error. They mixed up the files or Ariana had a sibling with the same first initial, something like that. It had to be, he refused to even entertain the idea that what he’d just seen was the true course of events.

But no matter how hard his heart railed against it, it connected too many dots in his head.

He needed to get to Ariana, _now_. Reaching over, he quickly rearranged the electrical cords to reset the emergency lights so he could see where he was going.

Whatever he thought her purpose was in coming here, whatever he thought she would do when she reached the top of the building, it was completely wrong and he had a rolling, rancid feeling in his stomach that she was about to do something she would regret for the rest of her life.

 

Bile rose in the back of Cullen’s throat, the acidic taste making his eyes water and the sight of the bodies littering the floor in front of him warp and shiver like ghostly apparitions. It was like something was the deepest recesses of the nightmarish Fade, red glow blossoming over bodies strewn all around him with blood pooling around them, appearing black against the angry scarlet light. Had she… done all of this? Had she felled all these people without even stopping to check to see if any had survived? Clearly not, as one was still alive, the wet choking, gasping breath gurgling through the air towards his ears.

 _Maker Ariana, they were innocent, they were just following orders_.

He rushed over to where the man lay, blood spilling out of a stab wound on his chest and glistening gooily in the low light.

“It’s… It’s alright,” he muttered shakily, although to the man or himself, he couldn’t tell. He propped the man’s head up in his hands and tried to stop them from shaking. The dying man’s eyes rolled up, over Cullen’s face and back into his head, unable to focus on his saviour. “I’ll get you help, I’ll get-“

With a shuddering breath, the man’s life finally gave out, and his head lolled to the side, Cullen’s stomach turning in disgust.

“Maker, Ariana… What are you doing?” he breathed, barely able to control the waver in his voice and the shiver running up his spine. He had to stop her, before any more lives were lost. There was no helping the poor soul who lay at Cullen’s side, all he could hope for is that the man’s soul found atonement in the Maker’s judgement, Cullen could do nothing for him now, but he could still save Ariana. He had to, for all their sakes.

He picked himself up, stumbling a little and wincing as the blood-soaked material of his trousers clung to his knees, but he pushed the bile back down where it belonged and wrapped himself in the steely resolve he’d once used as a TEMPLAR. Turning on his heel, he ran out of the room.

 

He passed another body on the way to the next room, halfway down the corridor with a large, ghoulish blood smear stretching out behind the woman, marking her path from where she’d dragged herself out of the killzone in a vain effort to reach the alarm cord just outside. Bloody fingerprints traced the space just beneath it, her body crumpled lifelessly beneath it and marking how close she was before her life had left her. Cullen’s feet stumbled at the sight, but he kept on running, not stopping even when he was greeted with the sight of the room beyond with double the bodies of before. His mind screamed out at the sight of every single one, dark memories he’d trapped in the recesses of his brain resurfacing and clawing at his ragged soul with poisoned talons. He’d seen this before, been trapped in a never ending cage made of his own mind while surrounded by the bodies of his comrades, his friends, their lifeless eyes still staring blankly at his behind his eyelids even after all these years. He saw all of them mirrored in the dead faces of the bodies around him, everywhere he looked all he could see was death and darkness and the hopeless anguish that came with knowing his friend had caused all of it.

_Run, Cullen, run, she needs you! You were like her once, all you wanted was death and ruin on those who had caused your nightmares, she’s the same. You have to help her, you have to stop her before she goes too far and is lost forever!_

He knew the voice was right, but how he would stop her, he didn’t know. Could he bring himself to put an end to this, if he had to? Could he trust the fate of the world to someone who had done all of this? He pushed the thoughts aside and focused on running. He’d promised that he would help her and not leave her side, and he didn’t plan to go back on that promise, and he prayed that she didn’t force his hand because if she did… He couldn’t even bear to think of what would happen. He just hoped he wasn’t too late, putting on a burst of speed and sprinting towards the stairwell leading up to the top floor and Ariana herself.

_Andraste, guide me!_

 

***

The gun shook in Ariana’s hands, and she forced herself to stop shivering, staring at the man on his knees in front of her. His bodyguards lay dead in the hall outside, it was just the two of them in the huge office now. Beside them, a wall of windows showed the city lights glittering like distant stars, the reflections catching the man’s eyes as he glared up at her. The muzzle of the gun was pressed against his forehead, angry red marks peeping out on his pale, sweaty skin whenever he shifted. He glared at her like a man with nothing left to lose because the person who’d taken it all from him was standing above him, gun poised and ready to take the only thing remained.

“Goodbye Brekker, you son of a bitch,” Ariana growled through gritted teeth, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and spilling freely down her cheeks as she stared at the man she’d once considered a brother, now fallen at her mercy. “This is for my family, you pathetic bastard.”

“ARIANA, WAIT!!”

The sound of Cullen’s voice roaring at her from the doorway made Ariana stiffen, eyes widening in shock, but she never removed her gaze from Brekker’s face.

“Get out of here, Cullen,” she hissed, blood rushing to her cheeks and burning her face with prideful shame. She wouldn’t let him get caught up in this, it was her fight, nobody elses.

“No,” he replied, taking a step towards her. “I know what happened,” he said softly, voice shaking as he approached.

“You don’t know a goddamned thing,” she growled.

“I saw what you did downstairs,” Cullen continued relentlessly, hand outstretched as if she was a wild animal about to attack. “All those people, I know what you did, and I know you can still stop this.” He took a deep breath in, stopping a few feet away from Ariana and looking at her desperately. “I know it hurts, but-“

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT!!” she screamed, tears gushing from her eyes. She pressed the gun even harder against Brekker’s head and made him grunt in pain. “You don’t know what he did to me, to all of us, you don’t-“

“He killed your clan.”

The words hung in the air like frozen bullets, the chance of peace of ruin caught up in which way they fell.

“He killed your family,” Cullen continued when Ariana didn’t reply. She was completely still, no longer shaking, tears falling silently from her emotionless eyes. “You were a kid, right? When they took you? They took you away from everything you knew and loved and for what, some protection deal? They took you away from your family, that’s all that matters.” As he spoke, Cullen took another step closer to her, heart pounding in his chest so hard he thought his ribs would shatter. “They trained you, then the guy who took you gets killed, and this… This Brekker takes charge, right?” From the way she flinched at his words, Cullen knew he was correct. He took another tentative step forwards. “He lifts you up to his right-hand man, makes you into everything you are today, right? And then… he goes and slaughters your _entire clan_.”

The last statement tugged at the fraying edges of Cullen’s resolve and tore it into dust, tears rising in his eyes and he took one more step forwards, feet dragging as if they were made of lead until he was almost in reach of Ariana’s hands. “But this can’t define you, Ariana, you can’t let it. That’s not what they would want, your family, they wouldn’t want any of this. They’d want you to be happy and at peace and if you do that I promise that you will never forgive yourself. You have to be strong, dammit, one of us has to be the strong one and it sure as hell won’t be me so _please_ , Ariana, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here at your side but you _have_ to trust me.”

His fingers reached out and closed the distance between them, two souls crashing together like waves against a cliffside. Her hand was so cold in his, the gun heavy as her fingers gradually, miraculously loosened and the weapon fell into his palm.

All the air rushed out of Cullen’s lungs and he swept Ariana into his arms, unable to tell if he pulled her into the embrace or if she fell. The only thing he cared about was that she was there, in his arms, and that she hadn’t pulled the trigger on the man who had caused her so much pain.

Ariana pressed her face into Cullen’s chest and her hands rose falteringly to clutch tightly at the back of his shirt, fingers digging into his skin through the fabric but he didn’t seem to care. Time melted into pieces around them like falling raindrops and all she could feel was the beating of his heart against her collarbone and the feel of his body, strong and solid, in her arms.

 “Well, isn’t that touching?” Brekker suddenly sneered from beside them, making Ariana jolt of Cullen’s embrace. He was looking at her with derision and the anger flared up in her chest again.

 Brekker stood, dusting off the front of his suit. His thinning hair was ruffled but the rest of him was sickening immaculate, he could pass for a well-to-do businessman to anyone who didn’t know he sat at the rotting core of a major crime syndicate.

“Really, I would expect that sort of… mushy bullshit from a common female elf, but from you?” Brekker shook his head, curling his lip. “It’s sickening how soft you’ve become. And I’m saying that after you tore through my people like a disgusting, savage animal. Maybe I should have put you down along with the rest of your cl-“

He never got to finish the word, as Ariana’s weight slammed into his chest, arms wrapping around him and tackling him with all her strength. Her feet scrabbled for purchase against the plush carpet and she gritted her teeth, shoving him with all her might towards the window behind him.

Brekker yelped out in pain as he crashed against the glass, cracks shooting out from where his head collided against it. Before he could fight back Ariana smashed her fist into his jaw, yelling out in anger and pain and everything she wished she’d got to do years ago as she hit him again and again, blood spurting from his mouth and nose as the bone inside shattered.

Her hands tangled in his shirt front and she dragged his body forwards before slamming it back onto the window. The sound of cracking glass barely reached her ears, and she could hear Cullen yelling distantly behind her, but she didn’t care. Her mind was enveloped in a haze of red and empathy had been lost three floors below her. All she wanted to do was hurt Brekker like he’d hurt her. She picked him up and shoved him back again. She heard running footsteps behind her.

_Not yet, not enough, not yet!_

One more tug forwards, one millisecond to gather years of anger and betrayal into her muscles, and she smashed Brekker’s body against the glass once more.

Except the glass wasn’t there, and she was falling.

Her left hand reached out of its own accord as her body pitched forwards, grabbing the window frame even as her bullet wound screamed out in pain. Her hair rushed back from her face in a sudden burst of impossibly strong wind that hadn’t been there a moment before and her stomach swooped up to her ears, her other hand instinctively tightening around Brekker’s wrist as his weight tugged her down, dragging her like an anchor.

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and she snapped forwards with the whiplash, crying out in pain and blinking rapidly.

The window had shattered and she was standing on the very edge of the window ledge, bent almost 90 degrees with Brekker dangling over the precipice, saved by her own hand clutching his wrist. Below him the city was swallowed into a black void, gaping like an open mouth ready to swallow them.

“Ariana!” Cullen was yelling in her ear. “You have to pull him up! I’ve got you!”

“I…. I can’t!” she gasped. Her hand wanted to open, wanted to throw him into the darkness and laugh as he fell, but Cullen’s pleas had wrapped around her heart and muffled the screams for vengeance.

“You have to! I can save both of you but you have to help me!” he shouted against the wind rushing around their ears. “Ariana… I know you can do this. I believe in you,” he continued in a softer tone, mouth brushing the tip of her ear. “You don’t have to kill anyone else tonight.”

Ariana’s mouth tightened as his words sank into her. She knew he was right. She was better than this, she had to be. She wasn’t the cold-hearted killer she had been in the past, she would not prove Brekker right. Her hand tightened around his wrist and she gritted her teeth, pulling him up as she took a step back, leaning into Cullen and letting him drag both of them back up and out of danger.

The three of them stumbled back into the office, jumping back from the window’s edge as vertigo settled in their minds. Brekker crawled into the room on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

Ariana turned to Cullen, eyes wide and wild, hair blown back from the fall. “Th-Thank you,” she whispered, seeing in his eyes he knew it wasn’t just for saving them.

He smiled. “Anytime.”

“You think this is gonna happen again!?” Ariana retorted, voice shuddering in fear and hysteria as she grinned along with him.

“Hopefully not, but I’m an optimist,” he shot back, eyes sparkling.

“Damn right it won’t happen again,” Brekker hissed from where he was standing, hunched over his desk. “You think I’m going to let you walk out of here just because you saved my life?” His arm shot up and a gun was aimed at both of them before they could react. “You’re dumber than I thought, knife-eared bitch.” Flecks of spit shot from his mouth as he growled the words at her.

Ariana didn’t react, just glared at him.

“Nothing to say? Just like I thought. Knives aren’t faster than a gun, right?” Manic laughter ripped from his mouth and Brekker shook his head. “Shame really. You were one of the best. Oh well. Time to say goodnight, bitch.”

A shot rang through the air and Ariana’s eyes clamped shut, shock rippling through her. She waited for the pain to come and the ghostly fingers of death to guide her into oblivion, but none did. Brow furrowed, her eyes opened.

Brekker was crumpled on the floor, blood spilling from his lifeless body, and a smoking gun was in Cullen’s hand beside her.

She should be dancing for joy. She should be laughing with glee and spitting on his corpse, but… she couldn’t. She felt hollow, empty, sadness crashing over her like a steel tsunami. Cullen had just killed Brekker, he’d killed the man she’d been chasing for years, and he’d done it for her. The blood would be on his hands forever, and it was all because of her.

Ariana thought she should thank him, or yell at him, but she couldn’t even bring himself to look across at him as he lowered the gun and turned away, leaving her alone in the cavernous room, wind rolling around them like a caged animal. All she could do was stand, frozen in place, and watch as the blood poured from Brekker’s body and soaked into the carpet, the red stain seeming to spread until it covered her soul as well.

It was amazing, really, how much blood one body could hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the chapter:
> 
> Cool motive. Still murder.


	21. Big House Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write this at work?
> 
> Yes. Yes I did. Technically I'm a paid writer, even though I'm not being paid specifically to write. Tomato tomato.

The stench of damp, dark things rolled around the cavern, long-forgotten pillars and columns illuminated in warped light that wrapped around the stone like sickly green fingers. A hiss like escaping gas echoed around the chamber, permeated with sudden, shattering noises like glass cracking and splitting apart.

“It is almost ready,” the Old God standing beside the silent watcher said, voice low but powerful enough to rise above the noise effortlessly.

“How long until we proceed?” the watcher replied, bloodied eyes riveted on the scar ripping apart the space in front of her. It shone with an unnatural gleam like a piece of green silk rippling in the wind.

Corypheus smirked, expression grotesque against the puckered skin around the lyrium protruding from his flesh.  “Soon, we will use it to tear apart our enemies and the sky in one fell swoop.”

“You plan to unleash it at the gathering?” the woman looked up at him, face barely visible underneath the hood worn low over her eyes.

He didn’t answer, merely glanced down at her before walking slowly across the platform they were stood on, staring at the rift suspended over the ruined hall before them.

“You talk in hyperboles,” the woman continued, turning back to the rift as Corypheus returned to the shadows behind her, stalking in circles around her like a bird of prey. “Yet you never tell me more than the barest whispers of what your true plans are.”

“Maybe I do not trust you,” he replied dismissively. “You betrayed your former masters, trying to save the people you believe deserve saving but how much have you traded for that right? Your magic was concealed, I unlocked it in you and for that I have proven myself your true master. You are no longer a slave to that which you once called fate, destiny, Maker, an inescapable force that determined your life for you. You are free and I owe you nothing more than what I have already given.”

Silence fell over the cavern again, broken only by the hisses and shattering of the rift, Corypheus’ words bringing a grim finality to the scene.

“You owe me nothing,” the woman repeated in a whisper, face downturned, hands clenching into fists inside the long sleeves of her robe.

Corypheus smiled and retreated into the shadows, allowing them to swallow him completely as he left her alone on the edge of the platform.

“I owe you nothing,” came the promise, hissed through the air like a snake’s whisper.

The woman didn’t follow him, couldn’t bring herself to move back from the precipice. Her body leaned forwards slightly, pitching forwards by a millimetre as if she meant to jump, but she pulled herself back and looked to the ceiling, invisible against the darkness surrounding them. Her hand stretched out towards the rift and she closed her eyes, threads of green light wrapping around her wrist like vines. She stood like that for a few moments, expressionless, unmoving, looking like a statue of some ancient goddess mastering an unknowable supernatural force.

But, like all things do, the moment ended. Her hand dropped to her side once more and her eyes opened. The green glow of the rift caught her gaze one final time before she turned away, melting into the darkness and seeming for all the world like she’d never been there to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #WhoIsTheWatcher am i right? I actually wanna know who you guys think it is, so tell me in the comments! For science.
> 
> As always, if you liked this then feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, and enjoy the upcoming chapters cos they'll be uploaded a lot faster now!


	22. Dizzy with a Dame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's earn that mature rating, shall we? Also backstory stuff w/e

 

Spring washed over the city like fresh rain, droplets gripping the hibernating trees and weeds poking out between the concrete slabs and coaxing them into life again. Birdsong hesitantly began weaving through the ever present traffic noise, haltingly at first but growing stronger as the sun rose over the city and draped it in golden, hazy light.

Cullen and Ariana hadn’t spoken on the drive back to his office, what on earth could they say? They had just murdered someone, even if Cullen had taken the shot so Ariana didn’t have to. How could she thank him for ending someone’s life for her without sounding like a psychopath, or worse, completely unfeeling?

The answer was, quite simply, she couldn’t. Just in the same way that he couldn’t even broach the subject of how he’d seen the trail of corpses she’d left behind or how that, even though he’d read through her files at the Tower, there was still a lot about her past that he didn’t know.

They arrived back at the office, pulling over on the side of the deserted street and getting out, walking up the front steps together with an unspoken promise that they weren’t leaving each other’s sides until this was settled.

Cullen slid the key into the door, gave it a twist, then a shove to unjam the door, and stepped into the darkened office. Everything looked the same, except everything looked different. It was like an unwelcome reminder that he had changed in a way that he couldn’t have expected or avoided and couldn’t blame it on his surroundings. This was his fixed point, a square hole he used to be able to fit in perfectly but now couldn’t quite make it match up to who he had turned into.

The worst thing about it was that he wasn’t sure if it was remorse he was feeling as his old life began to slip away, or relief that he was finally free of its comfortable confines.

Ariana was still standing behind him, unmoving and staring with a distracted stare at the room. Cullen’s eyes darted over her, taking in the distant gaze, arms that were wrapped around her body too tightly to be casual, her blank expression. Without a second thought he marched across the room and grabbed the comforter off his couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, making her jump slightly as the fabric brushed over her skin.

She still had blood on her face, he realised.

Silently he ushered her into the room, locking the door behind her and feeling like a criminal for doing so. Setting her down in the armchair in his tiny living room (if it could even be called that as it was barely separate from the rest of the office), he bustled around, collecting bowls and filling them with warm water, fresh towels and placing the kettle on the tiny gas stove to boil.

The heavy silence was finally lifted with the sounds of rushing water and the steady hiss of the stove, and Ariana blinked.

“Here,” Cullen muttered hoarsely as he sat down, perched on the edge of the sofa in front of her, setting the bowls down on the table beside them. He reached out and hesitantly took her chin in his fingers, relaxing a little when she didn’t protest. Dipping the towel in one of the bowls, he began gently wiping the blood off her face. There wasn’t too much of it, but it had congealed in her eyebrows and glued itself to her skin, but he was determined. As he dabbed, her vallaslin began to emerge once again and a memory of when it had been spring green flashed through his mind. How much about her had changed in the few months since they’d met?

She didn’t laugh as much as she had done in that first meeting. Her hair had got longer too, falling in front of her face haphazardly instead of being slicked back neatly. She wore armour all the time now, although he didn’t know if she’d always done that, but it seemed different now. Maybe because he could guess why she did and he wasn’t able to before.

“Ariana?” he ventured, seeing emotion come creeping back into her eyes as he wiped at her cheekbone, a thick spot of blood smearing obscenely across her pale skin.

She didn’t reply, but her eyes began to focus and her hands rose to clutch at the blanket around her shoulders.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to talk about it yet,” he murmured, anything louder than a whisper sounding wrong in his ears. “But… You should. Eventually. Maybe not now but…” he shrugged, rinsing out the towel and staining the clear water red. “Sometime. I’ll be here, when you need it.”

“I need-“ her voice rose up, breaking apart only at the second word. She shook her head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears and tried again. “I need to tell someone. Now. It’s going to tear me apart if I don’t.” Her words were whispered, blurted out in a rush.

Cullen nodded. “Ok. Tell me.” He moved the towel to her forehead and hair, every so often dabbing at her eyebrows to soften the blood gummed up there.

So Ariana told him. She told him everything, and as she did, Cullen didn’t falter or interrupt, just let her talk and talk as he soothingly washed the blood out of her hair, the only break in her confession the soft splash of water in the bowls next to them.

 

 

Her clan was down on their luck, their informal reservation unaided by any governments and an open target for raiders in the badlands where they lived. She was from the Free Marches, she explained, near the coast in a small valley where the air was heavy with moisture in the summer that turned to rain and fell in sheets in the winter. They were small, smaller than most Dalish clans but fierce, determined not to succumb to bullies and go their separate ways in search of greener pastures.

At first they only contracted a few mercs, just enough to keep the worst of the raiders at bay and pick off the rest themselves with bows and arrows. They never used magic, it might draw the dreaded TEMPLARs into the fight and that was something they didn’t need.

Ariana had paused then, guiltily looking at Cullen who had merely raised his eyebrow in mock offense. She’d laughed a little and the sound was like music.

It had worked for a while, using the mercenaries, but nothing lasts forever.

The Coterie got wind of them, either that they were a small clan that could be easily controlled or that they had warriors that were skilled enough with bows and arrows to use them against gun-wielding raiders, but the point was they were ripe for the taking. They’d contacted the clan’s Keeper with the intent of setting up an alliance. They needed guards who knew the terrain for a few convoys, and we needed protection. It worked out well on the surface, sign a few of the warriors to the convoy, get a bit more protection because nothing scares away gangs like a bigger, tougher gang.

Except her clan hadn’t read all of the small print, if it was even on the contract in the first place. One convoy guard job turned into two, then another guard job but this time in a city, then taking point with a gang on a job, then more and more until they realised that they’d signed over their best fighters into indentured servitude with one of the most notorious gangs in Thedas.

The years passed and the Coterie continued to “employ” young, promising fighters from the clan to be part of their gang. They made it seem like an honour, that the kids would be the protectors of their families, and as time went on the kids were taken away completely to be trained in Denerim at the HQ of the gang. Apparently elves make great thieves, they’re naturally light on their feet, go unnoticed in large crowds and can see in the dark, so that’s what the Coterie trained them to be. Infiltrators, burglars, spies, all sorts of shadowy things.

Ariana was younger than most when she was selected, she explained, but they waited until she was a eleven before taking her to the capital to train her. She’d been ecstatic when she was picked, and they treated her with fake kindness at first, getting her to do small jobs that went unnoticed. Others in the city spat at her, called her knife ear or a rabbit bitch, pushed her around, but the Coterie never did. She felt safe when she was with them.

 

“But they made you into a slave,” Cullen blurted out, instantly regretting it as the moment was shattered and Ariana glared at him.

“Don’t patronise me, I know that now. But at the time I was no more a slave to them than you were to the Order,” she snapped.

Cullen pressed his lips together and Ariana sighed, rubbing a hand over her now (mostly) clean forehead.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. They made me feel safe and loved when I had nobody else.”

Cullen was surprised. He’d expect a band of thugs like them to be the least understanding or sympathetic to an elf kid they’d forced into indentured servitude. The idea that Ariana was treated well, but only loved the same way that you would love a guard dog who snapped at thieves, was abhorrent to him.

But he pushed those thoughts aside and motioned for her to continue, now working on the blood on her arm. Her own this time, from the bullet that had clipped her earlier.

“Like I said, I was good at sneaking around…”

 

The Coterie used her to get their hands on things, gathering messages from contacts who didn’t want to be seen by authorities, finding out trade routes they could ransack for supplies, sometimes it was petty theft. Once she managed to pilfer the entire collection from the end of a Chantry service, plate included.

Ariana laughed then. She still had the plate, she said.

When she got older they used her for more and more complicated jobs. They trained her, putting her in an empty room that was filled with light and told her to hide from the two way mirrors all around the walls. There was water on the floor, couple of inches deep, and if they saw any disturbance or ripples they sent an electric shock through it. Then they lowered the temperature to just above freezing, left her there for a few hours, then came back, brought up the heat and started the training again.

After a few rounds of that she figured it quickly. It was when she learned to disappear completely.

 

“How did you manage that?” Cullen breathed.

Ariana didn’t react to his question, gazing distantly over his shoulder as he reached up to unclog a particularly large bit of blood from the end of her hair.

“It was something my Keeper mentioned to me. An old Dalish trick apparently, being able to shift into invisibility. Probably latent magic from when all elves had magic, something even non-mages can still use like…”

Her left hand clenched and Cullen saw the tell-tale flash of green between her fingers. They still didn’t know what that was, there were so many unexplained things in this world. Glowing green scars, turning invisible, blood magic that came from the fade itself, it was all baffling.

“When I’d cracked that little secret they decided it was better to use me for things a little bit more… tricky. Stealing documents from an empty office after hours turned into getting my hands on the whole damn briefcase from his hand on an empty sidewalk. Pilfering a few coins from the Chantry collection plate turned into getting into a bank and filling whole bags with cash and being out before the Tellers noticed. And I did it, I never got caught. Set off a few alarms once but that was it, and it was hilarious watching the suits scurry around trying to find out who had lifted cases of high-quality Lyrium from their personal stores right under their noses.” She giggled. “Classic.”

Cullen smiled, imagining a teenage Ariana reaping havoc all over Denerim.

“Wait a second, that was you?” he blurted out, suddenly remembering the day in question. He was on a visit to the Denerim branch from the Circle when all the alarms had started to go off and they’d been taken back to the guest quarters. He’d been confused, annoyed that his meeting with the Captain had been delayed, young and hopeful recruit as he had been, bristling that his chance to show off to his superior had been cancelled. He remembered how he’d seen a flash of black and gold, and then heard a lot of running and yelling from the other recruits before he’d been shoved aside by his own officer and barked at to get out of the way and do what he was damn told.

“I saw you…” he breathed, barely able to believe it. Was it fate? Or chance? He could never decide.

A soft smile crept over her lips and Ariana looked at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time since she’d arrived.

“And I saw you,” she replied, holding his gaze for just long enough for his heart to skip and golden light spill through his brain, before coughing and looking away awkwardly.

“Anyway. That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah…” Cullen agreed hoarsely, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, carry on. You were being promoted, right?”

 

Being given harder jobs wasn’t quite the same as being promoted, she corrected, but it was basically what was happening. The leader’s right-hand-man became her handler, her partner whenever she needed one, her sponsor and advocate in the Coterie. She was being brought into their inner circle, but she couldn’t see the danger that spelled out at the time. She was just happy to be given better jobs. Eventually the killing came in, but she hardly noticed. When you’re sneaking around and stealing things, adding a few throats that need to be cut to the To Do list doesn’t seem to make a difference. It just made things more exciting, more of a challenge and she had loved it.

Cullen didn’t judge her for that, she was a kid who’d been conditioned since she was born to think that it was alright. Anyone in that situation would have grown up with a fucked-up sense of good and bad.

She’d carried on like that for the next few years, turning into their prime infiltrator and assassin. It was also when she had met Solas, she finally explained, matching the threads in Cullen’s mind that had been annoyingly frayed for too long. She wouldn’t tell him the specifics, but it involved a protection job and the two of them becoming close afterwards. After she told him that they moved swiftly on to a new subject.

Her handler had been pleased with her but unhappy with the state of things in the Coterie. He believed they should be more powerful, wipe out the other gangs in Denerim and become the only ones controlling the city. He’d manipulated Ariana into agreeing with him, exploiting the trust in their relationship to turn her into his double agent. Eventually he made his move and murdered the current leader, taking over the operation seamlessly and making Ariana his new right-hand.

 

“That was Brekker, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, Cullen already knew the answer by the look on Ariana’s face, the careful omission of the name, the way her lip curled whenever she mentioned the man.

She was silent for a long time after that. The kettle boiled and Cullen fetched it, pouring two cups of tea, one plain run-of-the-mill for him, one special Nevarran Rose for her that he’d been saving for some unknown reason.

“Yes, it was Brekker,” she confirmed quietly as he returned and resumed the un-matting of her hair.

His hands stilled, resting on her shoulder. “Maker, Ariana, I’m-“

“Don’t,” she said sharply, glancing up at him. She reached up and grabbed his hand, holding onto it so tightly that he thought his fingers would break. “You don’t need to do that. Not ever.”

 

She didn’t let go of his hand even as she finished her story, almost as if it was a life raft she clung to so she could get to the end. However bad she had been before the coup, she got even worse.  She was the ferocious guard dog who snapped at anyone who crossed her path, she committed more crimes under Brekker’s leadership than she’d ever done under the old commander.

Solas was the first one who was brave enough to stand up to her, Ariana said, he’d said straight to her face that she needed to get out before she ended up dead or worse. She’d spat at him and called him a crazy old man, but even after she’d stormed off she knew he was right. They’d been close for too many years to simply dismiss it.

Cullen didn’t ask if that was when she realised that was when she loved him as well, he didn’t want to know.

After that she’d started to question everything around her like a blanket had been pulled off her mind and a spotlight was shining into the darkest recesses of her mind. She remembered what it was like to have a family, to live outside of the Coterie, and the more she remembered the more she began to distance herself from everything Brekker had told her was right.

It was around this time that she had first met Oryn. She smiled as she spoke, tone softening. She had been instructed to kill the other woman for the threat she posed to Brekker’s operation. She and her band of so-called “Righteous” were bringing down raiding routes all along the wounded coast as refugees flocked to Denerim from Kirkwall and Brekker wanted her dead.

Unfortunately for him, it did not go as planned.

Ariana left with the full intention of killing Oryn (she wasn’t completely free of his command over her quite yet, she explained), but before she knew what was happening Oryn had detected the attack, disarmed her and was holding one of her own daggers to her throat. Instead of killing her, Oryn had carved an O into her shoulder and set her on her feet, saying that was her punishment and if she wanted to atone for what she had done and lead a better life, Oryn would protect her as one of the Righetous.

And Ariana had said yes.

 

“So that’s my heroic backstory,” Ariana finished, shrugging and giving Cullen a small smile. “A wonderful tale of woe and murder.”

“Whoa,” Cullen muttered, sitting down heavily opposite her.

“And murder, yeah.”

Cullen made a pyramid with his fingers, staring at the threadbare rug beneath their feet. “How many other people know about this?” he finally asked the question that had been weighing more heavily on his mind with each revelation that fell from her lips.

“Dorian knows some of it.” Ariana rolled her shoulders back and cracked her neck to the side, stretching out from a long period of sitting completely motionless as she told her story. “Solas as well and Oryn did, obviousl-Ah!” Her words were cut off with a sharp gasp of pain and she clutched her shoulder, wincing.

“Here, let me.” Cullen leapt off the couch, towel already in hand as he took her arm with careful fingers, lifting it up so he could dab at the growing red stain from where the bullet had clipped her. Her elbow felt so delicate under his touch and he suddenly realised how much smaller than him she was, even with her lean physique she was still willowy, petit, and if he was going on first glances alone, easily breakable. His long fingers almost met around her arm and heat suddenly rushed to his face even though he couldn’t tell why.

She tensed under his touch but only for a moment, relaxing and looking down as he pressed the towel against her shirt.

“I think this might need stitches,” he muttered as her blood seeped through the thin cotton of her shirt and into the towel with no signs of stopping.

She nodded silently and he stood, getting the first aid kit he always kept in the cabinet under the sink. He set it down on the coffee table and unclipped the lid, the only contents a roll of bandages, scissors, double-strength antiseptic, a needle and some surgical thread and a small bottle of bourbon. He couldn’t remember the last one coming with the kit, but whenever he needed first aid it was normally a sign he needed a drink too.

“Alright,” he said, threading and sterilising the needle before turning back to her, “let’s do-“

Her shirt slipped off her shoulders and the words died in his throat. Ariana looked back at his open-mouthed stare awkwardly before squaring her shoulders and turning to the side, putting the focus back on the bullet wound on her upper arm.

Cullen shook himself, face now so hot he was pretty sure he could fry an egg on it, and quickly swabbed at the skin surrounding the wound with the antiseptic. He tried not to think about how soft her skin was underneath his hand as he gripped her arm and tilted it slightly so he could start stitching up the long, deep cut. She hissed a bit when the needle first passed through her flesh but she didn’t flinch, just sitting perfectly still as he tended to her.

In the low light, the first lights of dawn still barely creeping over the buildings and through the blinds, her skin looked as smooth and flawless as alabaster. Despite his best efforts, Cullen couldn’t stop his eyes from roving over the slender curves of her shoulders, the graceful line of her neck, all the way up to her slightly parted lips like twin rose petals resting on a piece of luminous moonstone. He was closer than he had ever been to her, small scars and imperfections that somehow made her more perfect in his eyes becoming visible. She had a small, silvery scar running from just above her left eyebrow to her cheekbone, several small ones on her shoulder-blades as well. Constellations of freckles dusted her cheeks, peppering down the back of her neck and sprinkling over the skin on her shoulders as well. All of it made her seem so much more beautiful, more real, and all he wanted in that moment was to run his hands over her soft skin, explore every inch of her, find out everything about her in the map of her body.

Without thinking, he let out a small sigh and as his breath fanned over her shoulders, Ariana stiffened and he saw goose-bumps rippling over her skin. She was tense, he noticed, her muscles hard under his gentle hand, and he could see a rosy flush creeping up the back of her neck and onto her cheeks.

She was blushing, he realised, _he_ was making _her_ blush.

The thought made a grin creep over his face before he could stop it and he ducked his head, trying desperately to focus on finishing the stitches and not on why she was blushing. It was probably nothing, after all.

Ariana’s breath seemed to quicken as he finished and snipped off the last of the thread, running his fingers underneath the wound and smiling.

“There, all better,” he murmured, eyes sparkling at her.

Time slowed to a trickle around them as she turned to catch his gaze, silver eyes wide and colour still on her cheeks. He was still holding her arm, he thought dimly. He should move away, retreat back behind his wall but all he wanted was to close the few inches between them because _Maker, it was already too far_.

A strand of hair swept over her forehead and without thinking he reached up, tucking it safely behind her ear again, palm lingering on her jaw.

“Ariana,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath as if the moment would shatter otherwise, “I-“

He never got to finish, as she leaned forwards, catching his cheek in her hand and pressed her lips against his in a simple yet earth-shattering kiss.

Her lips were so soft against his own, so gentle and his other hand reached for her but before his fingertips could graze her waist she pulled away, eyes snapping open in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “If that’s not… If you don’t…”

A grin lifted Cullen’s face and before she could take herself in any more circles he’d caught her in his arms around her and silenced her with a kiss. Golden light spread through his entire body as she wrapped her arms around his neck, crushing him against her. Gently, he ran his tongue along her lower lip, inviting her lips open and as they did fireworks exploded in his mind.

A gasp escaped her as he picked her up, lips never parting from her for a moment, and fell back onto the sofa with her on his lap, legs pressed on either side of his hips. Her fingers roved through his hair, clenching into fists as he tightened his grip around her waist before running his hands up the soft curves to the bare skin of her back.

“Should we really be doing this?” she asked breathlessly as she broke the kiss, forehead resting against his. Her hands dropped to circle his neck, fingers toying with the back of his hair.

Cullen struggled to think about her words, way more focused on the fact the woman he’d been dreaming about for months was sitting with her on his lap and pressed up against him, lips swollen and chest flushed. It hardly seemed real.

“Ariana, look,” he said, catching her eyes and fighting the urge to grin when he saw the sparks dancing in them. “We can stop right now if you want. I swear I’ll never breathe a word of this to anyone if you don’t want me to. But I’d really like to see where this goes. Maybe it goes nowhere but maybe it could be something really, _really_ good.” He did grin then, seeing the expression mirrored on her face inches from his. “I’m willing to take that leap, if you are.”

Ariana’s eyes softened, gazing down at him with such tenderness that he thought his heart would burst. “Alright. Leap of faith. I can do that,” she whispered, still smiling as he ran his hand over her cheek and tilted her face down, lips meeting again with renewed passion.

Her hands crept underneath his shirt as they kissed, goose-bumps trailing after her fingertips and Cullen’s breath caught in his throat as she deftly unfastened the buttons, pushing the fabric aside and ghosting her hands over his exposed chest. It barely seemed real, her legs clenching into his sides as he dug his fingers into the supple flesh of her back. Every scrap of fabric between them suddenly became too much and he leaned forwards, feeling her shove his shirt fully off his shoulders and move away just long enough to pepper feather-light kisses along his neck and jaw. A groan escape his throat as her teeth grazed his flesh just enough to leave a mark and she giggled.

“Enjoying that, are we?” she teased, laughing as she did it again and got the same response.

His head dropped back against the wall, surrendering his neck completely. “You could say that,” he managed to mumble, feeling the tell-tale heat start to roll in the pit of his stomach. If she was put-off by the feeling of him hardening beneath her, she didn’t mention it, and instead did something truly wicked and ground her hips down just enough to make him hiss at the sudden pressure.

“You,” he managed to gasp, hands tightening on her arse and distracting her from her assault on his neck. “Are very,” he flipped her over and straddled her on the couch. “Wicked,” he finished, whispering the word into the sensitive flesh where her jaw met her neck and grinning as he felt her shiver underneath him.

She stared up at him defiantly, reddened lips curling up at the corners. “What do you plan to do about it, hot shot?” she teased, wriggling her hips again and revelling in the look he gave her.

His eyebrow rose. “Is that a challenge?”

She grinned. “Maybe.”

Something in Cullen’s mind finally gave way and his resolve crumbled, a wicked grin settling over his face as he leaned back, ignoring her attempts to reach for him as he knelt down in front of her, shoulders brushing her knees as he unfastened her trousers and tugged them swiftly down to her ankles, leaving her in her bra and pants.

Ariana squeaked and tried to sit more upright, but before she could Cullen’s body was pressing against hers again and her surprised protests were smothered in a deep kiss. His tongue ran over hers and she couldn’t stop the moan from escaping her as he reached behind her and unfastened her bra, pushing it to the side and running his fingers along the underside of her breast, teasing her mercilessly.

“Cullen,” she whispered against his lips, feeling his hand cup loosely over her before moving away down her torso again. “Please…”

He broke the kiss to press his mouth against her neck, hot lips invading every part of her and stopping the thoughts rolling in her head.

“Cullen…” she tried again, sighing the word out as his mouth moved lower to finally, wonderfully, envelop a nipple, her back arching up into his touch.

He grinned against her flesh and rose to capture her mouth again, hand moving lower and lower until his fingers were resting on her folds, gentle running over them and giving her time to tell him to stop, tell him they were going too fast, tell him anything but how could she when she’d wanted this for so long it seemed impossible to say anything except for

“Please…”

And that was all he needed to hear, fingers delving between her folds and making her gasp in ecstasy as he explored her, clever fingers finding every way to make her moan and wriggle beneath him, coaxing her relentlessly to the edge until she could barely breathe, gentle words whispering in her ear and lips hot against her flesh as her whole body tensed and galaxies exploded behind her eyes.

Cullen lifted his body up as Ariana slumped back onto the sofa, chest heaving and flushed. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, grinning breathlessly. He rolled to the side, dragging her laughing form with him and she reached out her arms to wind around his neck, tilting him down to crush his mouth against hers in an impossibly tender kiss. Everything else melted away as they held each other, a feeling of being indescribably whole settling over Cullen. Ariana was in his arms, finally his in a way he never would have thought possible. She was his, body and soul, her heart beat in his chest in the same way his heart beat in hers. And he wasn’t planning on ever letting her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alice's guide to writing smut:  
> Step 1: Open document  
> Step 2: Cry  
> Step 3: Go and get a drink  
> Step 4: Remember you are hungover and therefore drinking would be a Bad Idea™  
> Step 5: Complain and try and remember your Academy Training  
> Step 6: Say "fuck it" and begin writing
> 
> This is why I don't write smut much people, it's not like I don't know what goes on, it's just putting it into words is just really really darn impossible for some reason. If you enjoyed this chapter leave a kudos or comment!


	23. Canary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy regular updates batman!! This is what happens when I have lost all motivation at work so write more than doing my actual paying job. Anyway, enjoy!

Ariana felt ridiculous. She was wearing one of the most impractical dresses she’d ever worn in her life, and was squashed between Dorian and Zevran who both looked effortlessly flawless in the back of a taxi. She scowled and tugged at her neckline, trying to pull the fabric higher, feeling horribly exposed around her collarbones. The heavy, embellished dress refused to budge and before she could pull anymore, Dorian slapped her hand away like an exasperated mother stopping a child from reaching into a cookie jar.

“My dear, if you don’t stop tugging at your dress I will be forced to tie your hands together until we arrive,” he scolded.

“Hm, kinky,” Zevran added helpfully from her other side, grinning over at them both. His hair was bound up into a loose ponytail and strands were already escaping either side of his forehead, although Ariana couldn’t tell if it was intentional or accidental fashionista dishevelment. “Can I be included?”

Dorian muttered something dark under his breath and huffed, turning away to stare out of the window. His gloved hands were twisting nervously in his lap and Ariana bit her lip, brow furrowed. Ordinarily she would run her hand through her hair or fiddle with her clothes or rub her cheek when she was nervous, but Dorian’s chiding had ruined all chances of doing that. Plus if she rubbed her face she was pretty sure half the makeup she was wearing would come off if she so much as brushed it.

The dress she could handle, she supposed it was quite nice, beige chiffon overlaid with ridiculous amounts of gold beading, blue satin peeping out from splits in the skirt which made it swish and rustle with every movement. The makeup, however, was annoying her more with every passing second, it drew too much attention to her face and was making her feel horribly vulnerable.

“Ugh you are both so _dismal_!” Zevran crowed suddenly from beside them, making her jump. “Can you please cheer up? We’re on our way to see royalty, polluelos, and you’re sitting here as if we’re going to a funeral!”

“You know Vivienne isn’t actually royalty right, she’s just part of Celene’s inner circle,” Dorian remarked sardonically.

Zevran shrugged. “Good enough, at least until we get to meet the Empress herself, right?” He grinned at both of them, honeyed eyes sparkling and Ariana couldn’t help but feel a little better. Zevran was a comforting presence to be around, especially since she knew he was a former crow and she was pretty sure he had an inkling about her sordid past as well. She guessed she’d have to get used to that, sharing her life with friends. Cullen said it would help to talk about it. She thought it would help more to hit things, but he was worth attempting the idea anyway.

“I suppose,” Dorian was saying and Ariana dragged her mind back to the present. “But we need this to go well, without Vivienne’s pull in court politics we’ll never get close to Celene to warn her about the danger Corypheus poses, or get her on our side.”

“Yes, but that’s why you brought me.” Zevran retorted, winking. “I am rather good at getting on peoples’ better sides.”

“No, I brought you because you’re better at this than Alistair.”

“Yes, but I was second choice, right?”

Dorian shrugged. “Well Josephine was busy, so-“

“Ah, third choice! And the third time is the luckiest.”

“Actually you were fourth choice,” Leliana piped up from her seat in the front, seemingly now bored with remaining silent as she had been so far. “I was third choice.”

“…At least tell me you asked for me because you couldn’t possibly go alone,” Zevran asked, egotistical optimism starting to waver.

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” came the reply.

Zevran clutched his heart in mock (or real, Ariana couldn’t tell) relief. “It does, thank you, cara mia.”

Ariana snorted with laughter, and Zevran gave her a sly wink. It hit her that with a few short words, Zevran had managed to completely change everyone’s moods. And judging by the smug look on his face, he was well aware of that.

“Have you ever met Vivienne before?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Not directly. I’m sure our paths crossed during one of my many times sneaking around the elite circles of the city, but we’ve never had the pleasure of meeting properly.”

“What’s she like?” Ariana turned to Dorian.

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “In a word, sharp. She knows how to use her words to end someone the same way you know how to kill a man with an inch-long blade,” he clarified when she gave him a confused look. “In Celene’s circle, words can do you in almost as quickly as a bullet, and Vivienne is rather an expert in wielding them.”

Ariana raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like a fun lady,” she remarked grimly, tugging on the heavy beaded pattern on her skirt and scowling when Dorian smacked her hand away again. “And she can get us a meeting with Celene?”

“We can hope.” Dorian’s gaze grew distant and he stared out of the window. Despite wearing one of his finest outfits, a fact that would normally mean he would preen and be as carelessly vapid as he pleased, he looked tired, withdrawn, contemplative. It didn’t sit well with Ariana, and she placed a hand over his gloved one. He gave her a grateful look, sudden vulnerability in his eyes.

“Come on, Dori, it’ll be fun,” she said in a low, comforting tone. “I mean, Bastien’s Salon? That place is on every TEMPLAR watch list from here to Nevarra! And we’re allowed in! Not just allowed, we have front row tickets!” She found herself getting more excited as she spoke, petulant mood at having to dress up finally lifting. “We’ve had some really…bad times lately. Let’s enjoy this.”

 

***

Bastien’s Salon was smoky, dimly lit, and smelt of alcohol, burnt vanilla and a thousand rich, expensive perfumes mixing together to form a perfect blend of elegance and pompous wealth. It was the kind of stuff you felt like you should be charged for, just for breathing it in. And it was _everywhere_ , every nook and cranny, swirling into the smoke drifting lazily around the finely upholstered chairs and elaborately decorated tables. Everywhere there was the glint of gold, flashes of opulence as bracelets caught the light, gleams and sparkles of jewels a thousand different colours as elegantly dressed men and women flitted around the cavernous rooms in between the columns like birds of paradise, never moving faster than a casual stroll. The vast majority of them wore masks, ornate things that hid eyes and expressions behind filigree veils.

A stage took up most of the back wall, deep red velvet curtains swept back to reveal an ebony piano, a semi-circular platform jutting out onto the Salon floor and waiting patiently for someone to come and fill the empty space. Ariana supposed that’s where performers stood, but for now it seemed that the piano and lone trumpet player were the only entertainment, mournful melodies weaving through the air and filling the spaces between the lulls of conversation from all sides.

Zevran nudged her with his velvet-clad elbow and she realised that she’d been standing, open mouthed in the entrance for the past few minutes. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Ariana nodded jumpily and smiled nervously at him. “Fine,” she squeaked.

He smiled reassuringly at her. “First time in the shark tank, right?”

She laughed guiltily, smoothing her hair back. Dorian had styled the shaggy, overgrown locks into a crown of plaits that sat atop her head like a hairband and, much to her dismay, was interwoven with metallic gold ribbons that meant she couldn’t touch it at all in case she dislodged the style. To make matters worse, he added deep blue feathers to a clip just above her ear that curled down and tickled her neck whenever she moved.

“How can you tell?” she continued. Shrewd glances around the room told her that she and Zevran were the only elves in attendance, and her scowl deepened.

If Zevran noticed, he didn’t seem bothered. He smoothed the sleeves of his forest green dinner jacket, the soft fabric clinging to his lithe form and perfectly offset by the charcoal shirt and tie beneath.

“It’s fairly obvious,” he replied. “You carry yourself as if waiting for an attack.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked in a low voice as he steered her towards what she assumed was their table, set just in front of the stage but far enough back to still be at the edges of the throngs of people.

Zevran chuckled. “In this crowd, yes. To be openly ready to defend yourself is to show your fear of a possible attack itself, and while that might serve you well in a fight, it is less than wise here. They’ll take it as a sign of weakness that you doubt yourself.”

“If they’re so concerned with my self-esteem why are they all ignoring me?” she retorted, taking a seat. Zevran sat beside her and draped one arm over the back of her chair, leaning in closely. She figured it seemed much like they were lovers, a guise that meant it was overlooked when Zevran murmured in her ear. Clever. Now they could communicate without anyone overhearing.

“They’re not ignoring you,” he whispered. “Watch them closely and you’ll see, everyone here now exactly who you are and are very interested in what brings you here. Have you ever even set foot in the Orlesian Quarter before?”

She grimaced. “Not if I can help it. They’re not exactly pleasant to elves here.”

“Exactly. So what is an elf, who is at the head of the much-whispered-about new Inquisition, doing in a place where she would be seen as a second class citizen?”

He gave her a winning smile and stood as Leliana took her place beside him, pulling out her chair for her before weaving off into the crowd.

Ariana pondered his words. So that was what the fine outfits were for. She thought they were to match the people around them so they didn’t give themselves away, but it was to show they belonged here, that they were just as good as the elite classes around them. It was like a different sort of armour but instead of offering protection from bullets or arrows, it protected them from being shunned or ignored before they could start building alliances.

This is why she left the politics to Josephine, the subtleties were completely lost on her. Gods, she wished Cullen was here, at least then she wouldn’t be the odd one out.

Ariana glanced over at Dorian’s outfit as he sat down on her other side, two drinks in hand. His clothes were much more extravagant, deep purple half-cape draped across one shoulder and fastened with a large gold broach on the other, high collar of his black and bronze embroidered doublet peeping out from above it. The collar was, of course, thrown open carelessly and exposing a daring amount of throat and chest, the metallic thread curling around the fabric shimmering in the low lights.

Leliana was similarly devastatingly stunning in wine red satin and black feather shrug sitting comfortably as she sipped her drink and watched the crowds around them, and Ariana realised she was the only one who seemed ill at ease in her clothes. Should she sit up straighter? Dorian was lounging as he always did, should she lounge? No, that would look stupid. Leliana was sitting as straight as a blade, would that work for her too? She wriggled in her seat, trying to get comfortable, scowling until Dorian dug his elbow into her ribs and she yelped in shock.

“Would you stop fidgeting!” he hissed.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “How much longer do we have to wait?”

“We’re not here to just see Vivienne,” Leliana broke in as Dorian’s face turned an interesting shade of red, chiming in before he could yell at her in his nervousness. “The Inquisition needs noble allies if we are to survive at Halamshiral, if we ever get there.”

Halamshiral, the massive former-Orlesian royal embassy building from the occupation of Denerim, now controlled by self-proclaimed Empress Celene who apparently fancied herself the scion of a long line of Orlesian kings and queens. Whether or not she was actually related to them was neither here nor there, she was nothing more than another gang leader, even if her gang was mostly politicians and leaders, members of the elite classes in Denerim and the surrounding cities.

Ariana pressed her lips together in distaste. “Fine, what do you want me to do?”

Leliana’s teal eyes sparkled at her and she stood smoothly, offering a hand to the elf. “Shall we dance, Inquisitor?”

Glancing around, Ariana could see no sign of a dance floor, so she assumed she was safe from actually having to dance. “Gladly,” she replied, grasping Leliana’s hand and shooting a smile at Dorian. “Relax,” she mouthed at the man, “it’ll be fine.” She was rewarded with the sight of him sighing and nodding briefly before chatting with Zevran as he returned. Why Dorian was so nervous, she’d never know. Maybe it was because he left this sort of life behind him when he joined the Righteous, or maybe he was just tightly wound from being trapped in Skyhold for so long.

She pushed the worries away as Leliana lead her across the room towards the bar, standing awkwardly as the woman began ordering pantheon-knew what from the myriad of colourful bottles on shelves behind it. Around her people were shooting curious glances her way before whispering to partners, sometimes conspiratorially, other times in open amusement. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. What would Zevran tell her to do?

_“So what is an elf, who is at the head of the much-whispered-about new Inquisition, doing in a place where she would be seen as a second class citizen?”_

_Right. Leader of the Inquisition, an elf but not beneath you, got it_ , Ariana thought. _You can do this._

“Pardon, madam,” a light female voice asked from behind her and she turned, seeing two finely dressed (of course) nobles looking at her with curiosity in their eyes.

“Are you the one they are calling… _Inquisitor_?” the woman continued, her Orlesian accent curling around the word.

Ariana nodded. “Yes. You’ve heard of the Inquisition?” she replied, choosing her words carefully.

The woman nodded excitedly, feathers on her wide-brimmed hat bouncing wildly. “Of course!” She placed her hands over her chest, white lace seeming to glow against the deep purple satin. “They say you’re helping people all over the city, like the vigilantes from the comic books!”

“Marinette, you shouldn’t read such silly things,” the man beside her scoffed, drink wobbling in its glass as he gestured towards Ariana. “They are nothing more than a large gang.”

“That’s also right,” Ariana said, shrugging, relishing the confusion on his face. “We’re a gang in that we’re a group of people working for a common goal, and that’s protecting this city.”

He huffed into his glass, drinking deeply. “A noble cause, nonetheless,” he replied, shrugging. “Your organisation is shrouded in mystery for now anyway, perhaps it is best if it stays like that.” He shot her a dangerous smile. “For now.”

Ariana paused before giving him her best _“I will shove a knife so far up your arse you’ll get a little cut every time you swallow”_ smile. “Perhaps it’s that way for a good reason.”

“But I’ve heard such things about you in particular, Inquisitor!” Marinette exclaimed ( _is that all the woman was capable of doing?_ ). “Surely it can’t all be true!”

“What’s being said?” Ariana asked.

“That you killed a hundred demons in the form of TEMPLARS and then collapsed a building on top of them, before taking down a dragon plaguing the outskirts single-handedly!”

“Yep, completely true.”

“Pah! The Inquisition?”

Ariana turned, glare already on her face as she saw a man walking through the crowd towards her. He was tall, one of the more well-dressed which meant he was probably a pompous arsehole, and a large top hat with a ridiculous peacock feather shoved into the band which meant he was _definitely_ a pompous arsehole. He swaggered up to stand in front of her, regarding her with open disdain.

“They are nothing more than another band of thugs trying to grab power,” he continued, lip curling in disgust. “This “helping the helpless” act is just so we don’t see that.”

“If you have a problem with me, why not just say it straight?” Ariana growled, narrowing her eyes. Leliana approached her side but didn’t intervene, watching the tension rise in silence.

The man snorted. “Why stop there? Why don’t we step outside and I would be _honoured_ to give you a taste of my blade, _Inquisitor_.” He gave an elegant, mocking bow before straightening, eyes like steel points driving into Ariana, and reached for the ornate sword hanging at his waist.

Before his gloved fingers could brush it, a sound like cracking glass tore the air apart and Ariana jumped back in shock. Ice was shooting up the man’s body, clinging to his form like water rushing up him and holding him in a shining prison before he could even cry out.

“My dear Marquis, how dare you show such rudeness in _my_ house, to _my_ guests,” a smooth, female voice echoed through the now silent space towards them. Ariana automatically reached behind herself before cursing inwardly and remembering that her blades were safely back at Skyhold.

A tall, ebony-skinned woman with the form and elegance of a statue carved by the finest Nevarran artisans swept through the crowd, the people parting before her like water. Her long, deep blue dress dragged along the floor behind her, the fabric covered in so many sequins, or possibly diamonds, that it sparkled and glittered like the night sky full of stars. A pure white fur stole draped over her shoulders and she raised a single, graceful arm, particles of ice covering the long satin glove. On her brow rested an elaborate metallic diadem, two stylised wire horns sweeping around her skull with the silver-coated points almost touching at the back of her head.

Ariana had never seen someone with such elegance and poise before, even Leliana had a different sort of grace about her, comparing her to this woman would be like comparing a stiletto dagger to a masterwork decorative sabre.

“Madam de Fer,” the frozen Marquis spluttered, still awkwardly stuck in place. “I did-“

“Hush,” the woman snapped and turned to fix Ariana with eyes the colour of deep amber. “My dear, you are the wounded party in this situation. How would you have me deal with this foolish, foolish man?”

 _This is Madam de Fer? Dorian never mentioned she was a mage!_ Ariana bit her lip, brow furrowed. _A lounge singer with connections to the royal court, yeah thanks, Dorian, understatement of the century there._

“Let him go,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. She had bigger problems, starting a blood feud with the man’s family because she ordered his death over something so petty as insulted honour wasn’t something she was keen on doing.

Madam de Fer’s eyebrow rose slightly, although Ariana couldn’t tell if it was in surprise at her mercy, or disdain for it. Either way, she waved her hand and the ice dissipated in a burst of snow. “By the grace of Andraste you have your life, my dear,” she said, fingers reaching out to snatch the Marquis’ chin as he stumbled back. “Do try and be more careful with it next time.” With that scathing remark, she turned away towards another group, seemingly done with the Marquis as he crept away, crowd closing in his wake like an unforgiving wall.

Ariana blinked, whistling under her breath. This was turning out to be a far more interesting party than she first thought possible, and judging by the amused look on Leliana’s face, it wasn’t a surprising occurrence.

“Are all parties in the Quarter so…” she whispered, searching for the right word.

“Volatile?” the woman asked brightly.

Ariana nodded.

“Of course,” Leliana replied with a sparkling grin. “This is the remains of a very powerful regime in all of Ferelden, not just Denerim, this is not just a collection of the elite classes in the city. These people represent some of the oldest and most influential families in all of Thedas, when all of them are in the same room you can understand if it becomes… interesting.”

Ariana’s eyebrow twitched. She’d never thought of it like that before. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like in Halamshiral, with the cream of the crop residing over everyone and everything like the occupation never ended.

It was things like this that really made her hate Orlesians. That and the fact they slaughtered thousands of her people in their blighted Exalted March. Arseholes.

She sighed and shook her head, seeing Madam de Fer finish her conversation with another woman and look over her shoulder to regard Ariana with a raised eyebrow. She shifted uncomfortably. Being stared at by the elegant woman was like being caught in the headlights of a rapidly approaching car, it left no room for her to manoeuver.  She missed Cullen.

“What do you know about Madam de Fer?” Ariana muttered out of the corner of her mouth as the woman made an excuse to her partner and began to stroll towards them.

“Strong, fiercely intelligent and knows how to use her knowledge,” Leliana whispered back quickly. “Became the youngest Imperial Enchanter and made the position into one with real power. She is not to be taken lightly, Inquisitor.”

Ariana gulped and forced a smile onto her face as Madam de Fer stood before her and held out her hand.

“Madam de Fer,” she greeted the woman in careful tones, taking the offered hand and pressing her lips gently to the satin glove like Dorian told her to.

“Inquisitor,” the woman replied. “Please, do call me Vivienne.” She gave Ariana a dazzling smile.

“And I am Ariana.”

Vivienne shook her head, horns glittering in the low light. “You must be Inquisitor first, I’m afraid my dear. One must always remember your position when speaking to, or about you. Shall we?” And with that she turned to sweep across the room towards where Dorian and Zevran were sitting, both jumping up as she approached.

Ariana huffed inwardly as she followed. Maybe she was in charge of a small army, but Madam de Fer held all the power here. This was her playing field, and Ariana was just some greenie fresh off the boat.

This must have been how Cullen felt, she realised as she sat between Dorian and Leliana with Vivienne directly opposite her, when he first joined the Righteous. Crazy that he stayed really, it must have been overwhelming.

Dorian gave her a sideways look and she realised she was blushing slightly. Clearing her throat, she leaned forwards and regarded Vivienne carefully.

“So. You can get us a meeting with Celene?”

Vivienne pursed her lips and blinked at the same time Dorian kicked Ariana under the table.

“Sorry,” she corrected herself, straining against rolling her eyes. “I mean Her Imperial Highness.”

“I can’t get you a meeting with the Empress, no, but,” Vivienne said quickly as Ariana’s face fell, “I can get you close. Your advisor, Miss Montiliyet, she has mentioned Halamshiral to you before?”

“I don’t need it mentioning to me, Madam Vivienne,” Ariana said darkly, the tips of her ears burning as she spoke.

Vivienne’s eyes flicked across them quickly before the corner of her mouth twitched up. “Of course. But regardless of how you know about it, you know it is the seat of Orlesian power in Ferelden. For that reason, Her Imperial Highness often holds galas that make my little salon look like country jigs.”

“I’ve been before,” Dorian cut in. “Wonderful events with the perfect ratio of alcohol and murder.”

“I remember them well, too,” Zevran added.

“Really? Why would you- Ah, never mind,” Dorian snapped his fingers. “Already answered my own question.”

Zevran gave a wide, sly grin and turned back to Vivienne, Ariana barely able to stifle her own smirk. She decided she really did like Zevran.

“So, you can get us into the Empress’ next ball, and we can get close to her to warn her of Corypheus and hopefully get an alliance, yes?” he summed up helpfully, and Vivienne nodded.

“Yes. Although the ball itself may be a little… interesting.”

Ariana frowned. “Interesting how?”

Vivienne paused, tilting her head to the side in thought. Her long neck made the motion look somewhat like a flower perched atop a long, elegant stem, bending gracefully in the breeze. “Her Imperial Highness is one of the most influential figures in Thedas,” she began, curling her gloved fingers together on top of the table. “Even though Orlais is technically under democratic rule, all true Orlesians owe their loyalty only to her, so she’s not just the self-proclaimed leader of a small Quarter, which is what you must think, I do not doubt.” She smiled as Leliana squirmed guiltily next to Zevran. “But she carries on the bloodline of rulers, and so she is at the centre of most political squabbles in this city and beyond.”

“So the ball isn’t a ball, that’s what you’re saying?” Ariana asked impatiently.

“Indeed, my dear. You know the tensions between the various groups in Thedas are rising, I won’t bore you with the details as you certainly already know them, since you’re now at the centre of them.” Vivienne’s expression hardened, turning from languid to shrewd as she thought. “Merging the Wardens and the Righteous into the new Inquisition was a bold move, not one I would have personally taken but it has meant that you are now important in political circles, even if you don’t wish to be.

“Celene has organised talks between some of major players in Denerim, so I can secure you and a few advisors a place at the festivities as emissaries from the Inquisition. I can’t guarantee a private audience with the Empress, but it’s your best chance.”

Amber eyes met silver as the two women deliberated how to proceed. Ariana knew she was right, and one glance at her team confirmed it.

“Deal,” she said, and Vivienne smiled.

“Excellent. I will have one of my boys deliver the invitations to Miss Montiliyet when they are ready,” she said, clapping her hands together. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Inquisitor, I’m sure our paths will cross again before this work is done.” Giving Ariana a cryptic smile, Vivienne swept away, disappearing into the crowds like a breath of fresh air moving through the musty room.

“Well,” Ariana turned to Dorian who thankfully looked more relaxed now that was over and done with. “That went well.”

“Indeed,” Leliana chimed in. “I think Madam de Fer has a higher stake in this than we realise. I’ll have to look into it.”

“Who can blame her?” Zevran asked, tugging at his leather gloves. “We are the new power in Denerim, no? Anyone who’s anyone should want to be our friend.”

“Somehow I think friendship isn’t what Madam Vivienne has in mind,” Leliana replied darkly, but Zevran shrugged in response.

“Even so, she doesn’t seem like the type to bury a dagger in any of our backs at present, so I say, let’s celebrate!” A bottle of clear liquid appeared on the table in front of them as if summoned by magic, and Zevran gathered their now empty glasses around it. “You two have never drank with an Antivan, yes?”

Both Dorian and Ariana shook their heads and Leliana gave Zevran a warning glance.

“Zev… Go easy on them,” she cautioned as he poured the liquid into the glasses.

“And you have never drank with a Dalish, have you?” Ariana shot back with a grin.

“No,” he replied, handing her the drink. “But I have eaten with one. Or rather, eaten one ou-“

“Let’s drink!” Dorian burst out, downing it in one shot. “I will need far more of that if you’ll be talking like that.”

Zevran laughed raucously. “Believe me, my dear Dorian, I will be talking _infinitely_ more like that, so you may wish you’d never said that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is my f a v o u r i t e I love writing him so much. Updates will be slower now because this is the last pre-written chapter I've done so make it last yo.


	24. Ring-a-ding-ding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MVP of this chapter is Ao3 Rich Text Editor because it removed the weird line breaks I managed to add in word in and couldn't figure out how to then delete.
> 
> Last talky chapter before the action starts heating up! Nearing the end of this story now, which is mildly terrifying. I guess I'll just have to write my actual book and nothing else after this, how intolerable.

 

“So wha’s going on with you?”

“What?” Ariana rolled her eyes over to Dorian who was slumped gracefully over the table, empty glass still clutched determinedly in one hand. It had been hours since their meeting with Vivienne ended and they had all been drinking constantly since then. It was quite impressive they were still upright, although in Dorian’s case this was starting to wane.

He waved the glass at her and she jolted back in her seat, the room spinning around her.

“You know what I mean, my darling, don’t be such a twit,” he drawled, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his hand. “You and someone, I assume _vaaaguely_ attractive but your track record includes Solas soooo….” his words dissolved into a laugh. “Anyway, anyway.” He waved a hand, almost hitting himself in the face as he did. “You and _someone_ did something last night and I will assume it was more than cuddle so do please tell all the details and if you leave something out I will definitely drop you.”

Ariana giggled, brain whirling in clouds of pink alcohol. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied innocently, slurring her words only a little which was impressive given that she was around 80% alcohol right now.

“Hey!” Leliana dropped into the seat next to her, voice breathless and smile already on her face. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing-“

“Ariana slept with someone last night and she’s not telling me who.”

“Dorian!!”

“What!” He shrugged defensively. “You were telling me anything!”

Leliana laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, Dorian, everyone already knew that anyway! So you don’t need to worry about it.” She patted Ariana’s shoulder comfortingly.

“How is that meant to make me feel better!?”

“Ah _, mon petit poisson charmant,_ ” Leliana sang, going to smooth Ariana’s hair but stopping as a loud snarl came from Dorian’s direction. “Do not pout, you’ll ruin your beautiful, beautiful face.”

“I’m not pouting,” Ariana said sulkily.

“Yes, yes you are! I should call you mon canard, no?” Leliana giggled again, drink sloshing in her glass as she took a sip. “Honnêtement, ne pas pouvoir parler Orlésien tout le temps me rend fou, mais je peux vous insulter tous que je veux sans que vous le sachiez,” she babbled to herself before laughing loudly again and taking another long gulp of the golden liquid.

“Ha!” Dorian slapped a hand on the table, laughing loudly until his sluggish brain finally translated for him. “Wait… what!?”

“Hola!” Zevran wound an arm around Leliana’s shoulders from behind, cheeks rosy and eyes shining. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned and he’d lost his jacket somewhere, and behind him Ariana saw a very flustered looking woman with mussed hair and very pink lips walking shakily towards the bar.

“What’s got you all so excited?” he continued delightedly. “Is it me? I hope it’s me.”

“It’s not you, you big peacock,” Dorian replied scathingly. “We were talking about Ariana.”

“Oh and how she had sex last night, yes?”

“Oh for Mythal’s sake!”

“Relax, relax, mi zorra, good friends can always tell.” He slumped into the seat next to Leliana and grinned across the table at her. “You couldn’t have hid it even if you wanted to. Plus you have a hickey on your neck.”

Ariana’s hand flew to her neck, mouth dropping open in shock as Zevran laughed and lifted his drink to her.

“A las alegrias del amor!” he cried before downing it in one gulp. “Leliana, we shall dance.” And with that dramatic exclamation he grabbed the woman’s hand and whisked her away.

Ariana reached out and smacked Dorian’s head, causing him to snort loudly and jolt more upright from where he’d been slumping more and more to the side with his eyes closed.

“What! Vile creature,” he mumbled sleepily, smacking his lips together.

“You could have _told_ me I’ve had a hickey on my neck this entire time,” she hissed, their foreheads almost touching.

Dorian scrunched up his face. “Well excuse me if I thought you’d remember someone sucking on your neck recently. It’s not exactly a thing you forget and speaking of which,“ he heaved himself upright and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her accusatorily. “I haven’t forgotten you still haven’t told me who it was.”

“I don’t-“

“Solas?”

Ariana made a face, insulted. “No, Dorian, come on. Aren’t you some genius prodigy? You can do better than that.”

“Zevran?”

“What! He’s out with us now, you don’t think it would have come up already if that was true?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, you’re both elves and he seems like the type to give a companion a quick roll in the hay as stress relief. Next morning, clothes on, hands shaken, you part as unlikely friends. That sort of thing.”

She snorted. “Well, no, it wasn’t Zevran.”

Dorian hummed into his moustache, brow furrowed in thought. “Well, that narrows it down to Sera, and it’s not her because she’s been out of town on that Verichiel thing of hers, Cassandra and she’s as straight as a board tragically, Bull and it couldn’t be him because his hickey’s do not look like that-“

“You’re oddly good at this.”

“Hush, I’m investigating.” Dorian raised an eyebrow in thought. “So I suppose that just leaves Cullen-OH you sultry minx!” His eyes lit up with delight and he punched her shoulder. “You slept with the Detective!”

All the blood in Ariana’s body shot up to her face. “I… it wasn’t…I mean…” she spluttered, brain tripping over itself in its haste to correct him. She gave up and allowed her head to drop down to the table, groaning under her breath.

“Don’t tell anyone…” she muttered into the tablecloth, ears and neck uncomfortably hot. Still, she couldn’t stop the goofy smile from cracking over her face and she shook her head, giggling uncontrollably as the reality finally sank in. She had slept with Cullen. She. Had slept. With _Cullen._

“You slept with Cullen!” Dorian crowed, triumphantly clapping his hands together and echoing her thoughts. “How was it? Didn’t he used to be a TEMPLAR? I always imagine it’s either strict, very normal sex which ends with them thanking the Maker or completely wild and animalistic sex, no in between. Is that right? Oh, do tell me I’m right I do enjoy it.”

“Dorian.” Ariana took his face between her hands and stared into his eyes. “I love you.”

“Ugh, stop that.”

“But you have got to calm down,” she finished. She let her hands slide from his face and straightened his collar. “One question at a time.”

He sighed. “Fine. Was it good?”

The grin came back in full force as memories flashed through her mind. “Yes. Very. He’s… um… yes. Very good.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, smiling too. “Alright, second question. What brought this on? You were dancing around each other like you would have a severe allergic reaction if you got to close, what happened?”

 _Well it was a very romantic night of beating people up and killing them before they could kill me, but I think he really won my heart when he shot my Public Enemy Number 1 in the face before I got a chance to,_ Ariana thought.

“Um. You know. Just… happened.” She sipped her drink and hoped her blush was hidden behind the glass.

He gave her a sardonic not-buying-it-for-a-second look. “Uh-huh. Well however it happened, I’m happy for the two of you. Watching you dance around each other so much was, and I think I speak for everyone here,” he broke off, giving a melodramatic shudder, “excruciating.”

“Thanks,” she replied darkly. “So what now?”

Dorian slumped back, watching Leliana and Zevran twirling around the dance-floor, their movements bordering on thoroughly inappropriate even though they were laughing uproariously like teenagers while they danced. A fond smile settled over his face and he shrugged.

“Now we drink some more, then stumble back to Skyhold to report to Alistair and oh yes, _you_! I keep forgetting you’re the boss now. And since you’re the boss.” Dorian downed the last of his drink and tipped the glass upside down, slamming it on the table in front of her. “I say you buy the next round.”

 

***

_“I don’t think you realise how much you’re asking of me, Carver.”_

“Look, I’m not pretending this is going to be easy-“

 _“Good, because it’s not,”_ came the clipped male voice from the other end of the line, and Carver rolled his eyes. _“It’s not in the slightest. Where’s Hawke?”_

“But you know how important this is,” Carver continued relentlessly, ignoring the question. “If this Corypheus person takes Denerim, everything will descend into even more chaos that it’s in already, chaos you had no small part in starting might I add.”

_“Fuck you, Carver.”_

“Likewise, Anders.” Carver leant over the Miss Montiliyet’s desk he was borrowing to make the call to his former colleague (he wouldn’t go so far as to call the man a friend, especially after what happened). “Alright, stay away if you want to, but we need all the help we can get at this point. So if you have even a shred of humanity left in that demon heart of yours, I’m asking as… as someone who fought beside you once, please come to Skyhold.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Carver thought for a second that Anders had hung up on him, but then he heard a long sigh.

 _“I’ll think about it. Goodbye.”_ And with a click, the line cut off, leaving him alone in the office with the buzzing receiver pressed against his ear.

“Thanks, arsehole,” he muttered and slammed the phone down, resting his face in his hands for a moment and letting out a groan. He really hated making these calls, why couldn’t Hawke do it? Oh, right because he _was_ Hawke, and the real Hawke was away on business. What business, Carver had no idea, but he had a feeling it was the same sort of thing, trying to gather as much help as possible for the cause.

He should be used to Hawke leaving him behind by now, but it still stung. Carver unconsciously rolled his shoulder, the jagged, lumpy scar that ran from his left collarbone to his right hip stretching and pulling uncomfortably even now.

“Excuse me?”

A light voice in the doorway made him startle and he almost knocked over an inkwell as he jolted upright. Miss Montiliyet was standing in the doorway, looking quizzically at him with her large, doe-like eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just… thinking.” Carver coughed awkwardly. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

She smiled, nodding and vanishing back through the door again, her heels tapping on the tempered stone of the hallway.

Carver frowned before shaking his head and picking up the phone again, wheel whirring as he dialled another number.

“Hi? Merrill? It’s me. Y-yes I’m alright. Yes I’m getting enough to eat. No, no look, I need to talk to you about something. How do you feel about visiting Denerim?”

 

***

Ariana was slumped in a chair and over the table by the time the others had summoned her to the war room. She’d only been back at Skyhold for a few hours, long enough to get changed and wash her face but not long enough to sober up and she was feeling like a wrung out old cloth. Music crackled out of an old radio someone had placed beside the lamp illuminating the war table, the wavering sound just making her feel worse, like her mind couldn’t quite catch the noise before it slipped through her fingers again.

All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for years, but her new role as Head Honcho meant she had to report to Cassandra, Josephine, Alistair, Hawke and Cullen before she could collapse. As soon as she heard the door creak open she jumped to her feet and immediately regretted it, groaning as her head spun and the room rocked around her.

Hands grabbed her shoulder before she could pitch face first onto the map and probably get a mission marker in her eye, and she grumbled as she was turned to face her rescuer.

“Did the meeting go badly or well because at this point, it could go either way?” Cullen’s voice greeted her before her vision cleared and she could focus again. “Is this celebration drunk or wallowing in self pity drunk?”

The joy at seeing him again was distinctly muffled by the fact she couldn’t seem to form words properly. Moaning, Ariana let her head slump forwards onto his chest, going completely limp in his grasp. A dopey smile crept over her face as she felt his chest vibrate with a laugh and his arms wrap around her.

“Never let me celebrate with Dorian again. Or Zevran. Or Leliana. They’re all fired,” she grumbled into his shirt.

“Ok,” Cullen replied, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll hand out the memos tomorrow morning.”

Ariana laughed, head finally starting to clear as she stood in his embrace and she reached out her arms, holding him tightly before letting go and returning to the war table, fingers lingering on his hand for a second.

“Inquisitor.” Cassandra marched into the room, her strident voice making Ariana wince. “How was the meeting with Madam de Fer?”

“Yes, I’d like to know that myself,” Alistair joined in as he followed her. “I passed Leliana in the hall. She said she and Zevran were definitely not drunk and it was absurd that I’d asked her. When I pointed out that I hadn’t said anything she looked confused before popping some kind of smoke bomb and running down the hallway.”

Ariana pressed her lips together awkwardly, resisting the urge to blurt out that she wasn’t drunk either, in case he was wondering.

“The Inquisitor was just debriefing me before you joined us, Seeker,” Cullen cut in as the others entered, ignoring Ariana’s small snort at his accidental innuendo. “I think the meeting went well, right?”

She nodded in response. “Yes, Vivienne will be contacting Josephine with an invitation to Halamshiral next week.”

Josephine’s eyes widened. “Next week!?”

Cassandra and Ariana glanced at each other in confusion at her sudden, squeaked outburst.

“Yes…” Ariana ventured, eyebrow raised. “Is that a problem, Josie?”

The woman’s mouth dropped open, but then she clutched her clipboard to her chest and shook her head quickly. “No. No, no problem. I just will need to contact designers and dressmakers and book you in for fittings over the next few days, that’s all, but if you’re all alright with that then it should be fine.” She scribbled madly on her clipboard as she spoke, pen no more than a blur in her hand.

“Hold up a second,” Ariana raised her hand. “One, what do you mean dressmakers, and two, what the hell do you mean by _all of us?_ ”

“Yes, I would also like to know about that.” Cassandra glowered over the war table at the hapless woman opposite her.

“Well I mean, we’ll be emissaries from the Inquisition… so, we need to look the part,” Josephine stammered. “We can’t just show up in some awful uniform, I mean we have to look similar but… this takes time and it will inform everyone’s opinion of us as soon as we arrive!”

Ariana sighed, rubbing the rapidly growing spot of tension between her eyebrows. “Alright, fine, just get it done Josie.”

Josephine nodded and excused herself, nodding to Alistair as she left.

“This is all fine and simple,” the man grumbled, watching her go. He folded his arms over his chest and frowned over at Cullen and Ariana. “But, with all due respect Inquisitor, I still think my first priority should be, you know, finding my wife. Aka the thing that I got _him_ in to do in the first place, not play tea parties with you and your people. I don’t trust Orlesians, the fewer of them we have in our business the better.”

Cullen’s eyebrow twitched at the sound of the bitterness in his voice. The other man looked drawn, tired, dark circles shadowing the skin under his eyes.

“We’re not playing, Warden,” Ariana responded in a steely tone. “I understand you brought Cullen in to help you find your wife but now the issue of Corypheus and the attacks are linked, I thought you were willing to join forces with us on everything we need to do to stop it.”

“I am, but-“

“Then why, might I ask, are you questioning my authority here?” Ariana’s hands slammed onto the table and she glared at Alistair with a stare sharper than a knife. “We need allies if we’re going to succeed at anything here, and you need to either fall in line or stand aside because you do _not_ want to get in my way.” Her voice dropped to a growl and Alistair visibly faltered under the strength of her words. “We have all lost too much to start fighting amongst ourselves now, do you understand me.”

Cullen glanced between the two leaders, tension pulled so tightly across them he thought the war table would snap under the strain. The music kept churning out of the radio, seeming almost offensively out of place, a reminder of the real world that they had forgotten as they stared each other down.

“Alright, fine.” Alistair was the first to break, leaning back and sighing. “I’ll go along with this, but only because we need allies. We start playing nice with these politicians beyond that and you can kiss my people goodbye.”

Ariana nodded curtly. “Deal. And we won’t rub shoulders with them any more than we have to, trust me. I don’t like them either.”

That seemed to satisfy the Warden and he gave her a grateful nod before turning on his heel and slouching out of the war room.

“Alright, so we’re agreed. Our next move is to warn Celene of the target on her back and get some allies in stopping Corypheus at the same time. And while we’re there, we try and find out what anyone knows about Theirin’s missing wife, but quietly, ok?” Ariana’s eyes flicked around the people surrounding her. “We don’t want to draw too much attention to it, but Alistair is right. All of this started with the attack on Adamant, if anyone knows anything, I want to hear about it.”

“Understood, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said.

“Good. Dismissed.”

Ariana watched the others leave, not letting her posture falter until they were all safely out of the room. All except one. Cullen remained beside her and she wondered if anyone found that suspicious, if they’d noticed Cullen’s proximity to her throughout the meeting. He wasn’t standing particularly close but it made her skin burn all the same, like he was the sun and she was catching fire just from being in the same room as him.

“That went well, I think,” he said, looking down at her with a smile on his scarred lips.

She relaxed, rubbing a hand over her forehead and letting her eyelids drop shut. “It could have gone better. Alistair still doesn’t trust me.”

“He does, he just forgets it sometimes.”

“Did he trust Oryn?” Ariana hated herself for asking, but she had to know.

Cullen’s brow furrowed as he thought. “A little. He didn’t know her for long but she was one hell of a woman,” he replied contemplatively. “He said she reminded him of Kaira.”

“Kaira?”

“His wife. Elissa, used to go by Kaira.”

Ariana sighed deeply. “Oh.”

Cullen glanced over at her properly then, seeing her slumped posture, head downturned and eyes riveted on the floor as she swayed slightly.

“Come on, Inquisitor,” he said, picking her arm up and placing it over his shoulder, looping his other arm around her waist and lifting her onto her toes. “Time for bed.”

Ariana opened her mouth to complain, but gave up as she was walked towards the door, her feet picking up instinctively to follow Cullen’s guidance. Bed sounded good, really good. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a proper sleep.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, tongue heavy as he walked her down the empty corridors. It was still the wee hours of the morning, they’d stayed out at Bastien’s all night so there was nobody around to see the mighty Inquisitor being led to her room by the Private Detective. “Not… to do anything, obviously. I just…” A sigh puffed out from between her lips and her head dropped onto his shoulder, eyes already closed. “Please?”

“You need to ask?” he murmured back, words muffled as he pressed his lips into her hair. “Don’t be dumb.”

 

***

When Ariana woke, she was aware of something warm and heavy lying across her chest. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she tilted her head down and saw Cullen’s arm thrown over her and as the last cobwebs of bleariness cleared from her head she heard gentle snores from beside her. He was completely out for the count, face pressed into the pillow, mouth open, hair a mess, clothes rumpled and creased. She smiled and watched him for a moment before trying to ease out of his grasp. As she moved, he grumbled and tightened his hold, dragging her back towards him.

“Ack,” she coughed and squirmed harder. With a few more artful wriggles she popped out from under his arms like a bar of soap and scooted down the bed, landing heavily on the floor beside it. “Ugh, good morning to you to,” she mumbled, rubbing her bruised tailbone before standing and making her way to the door.

“Inquisitor,” Solas’ solemn voice greeted her as she snuck out of the room, making her jump. She spun around and found him regarding her with languid, calm eyes.

“Yes! I mean… Wh-What can I do for you, Solas?” Was her voice too high? It sounded too high.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on her flustered tone, if he noticed it at all. “A word, if I may?”

Ariana nodded and followed beside him, palms uncomfortably sweaty. She didn’t know why she was so awkward all of a sudden, although it could be something to do with a shirtless Cullen lying in her bed which Solas could have seen when she opened the door. It was like trying to hide a current paramour from an ex, except doubly uncomfortable because said ex was someone she worked with, and also someone who held a deep distaste for humans. She couldn’t even imagine what Solas would say if she told him about Cullen. Probably something along the lines of betraying her people and heritage, or abandoning elven glory.

“Are you alright, da’assan?” Solas inquired gently as they rounded the corner, walking down winding corridors towards the rooms he’d claimed ownership of.

“Mmhm, absolutely peachy,” she squeaked. “Just… just tired. Hungover, I think.” _Thank Elgar’nan for Dorian and his ability to ply me with drinks._

Solas laughed. “Yes, I saw Mr Pavus this morning. He looked a little… ragged.” Another huff of laughter escaped him. “Well, as ragged as the man can look.”

Ariana grinned in spite of herself, and felt a bit of the tension lying over them lift. “It was for a good cause.”

“I will not presume to comment on that,” he retorted sardonically as they reached his rooms, and he stepped aside to hold the door for her.

When she stepped inside, she was met with a riot of colour and light. Every surface was covered in paintings, orange and yellow swirling elegantly together and shot with bright green, stylised silhouettes in the shape of graceful figures with long, pointed ears and flowing robes that fell around their feet like shadows. Some paintings were finished, modestly marked with the initials F.H at the bottom, others were still in the sketching stage, rough paint marks still visible under the semi-transparent frescos. One, the one nearest the doorway, wasn’t even dry yet, and Ariana automatically took a step away from it just in case she smudged it just by looking.

“Solas, did you do these?” she breathed, following him as he walked past her towards the simple desk in the centre of the room, covered in books, paper and paint trays. She spun slowly, open-mouthed gaze cast to the ceiling where shards of green and blue patterns peppered the domed roof like an intricate mosaic. The crystal at the centre made the entire thing look like it was glowing from the inside out.

“Yes, when I have thoughts I need to make sense of it helps to paint the events unfolding around us, sometimes my mind will find meanings I didn’t realise before while I work,” he answered distractedly, shuffling the papers around on the desk.

“Wow…” Ariana’s eyes roved across the frescos, Solas’ explanation bringing sudden meaning to the fairly abstract paintings. She could see the stories lying in them now, the shadowy, jagged figure meant to be Corypheus, the hooded phantom behind him with red dripping from where their eyes should be obviously his mysterious servant. The person standing in front of them seemed tiny in comparison, one hand raised in defiance, green light shooting from their palm and shattering the wall between them, cracks linking into the next painting which showed a building crumbling into darkness, the lone figure falling in a circle of light through the empty void.

“Is that me?” Ariana looked over her shoulder to Solas, seeing him watching her with an unreadable expression in his storm-grey eyes.

He nodded silently, and beckoned for her to join him at the desk. Ariana cast one more look at the fresco, unable to tear her eyes away from her painted doppelganger. She took a step back, and as her shadow left the wall the light illuminated reliefs painted in the dark void, monstrous animals looming over her, dark grey forms barely visible against the black paint.

“Inquisitor?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Ariana could just about pick out what looked like fur and fanged teeth, deep red eyes glowing through the blackness at her, before she tore her gaze away and trotted over to Solas.

“I thought before you went to Halamshiral it would be useful for you to see things from a… different perspective to the one offered by your advisors,” Solas began, picking his words delicately.

“Really? And whose perspective would that be, your’s?” Ariana folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. “I know about Celene’s war crimes during the Halamshiral rebellion, Solas. I don’t plan to let that slide when I talk to her. She needs to know that the elven people, and I as their representative, will not submit to tyranny, from Corypheus or her.”

Solas stared at her, surprised by her sudden outburst. Heat rushed to Ariana’s face and she shuffled uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about your political position,” he pondered, still staring at her.

Ariana bit her lip, feeling like a child explaining herself to a parent. “Well, I thought it was obvious, I mean, I’m an elf and the Inquisitor and there hasn’t been someone like us in a position of power over shem- humans in a long time,” she muttered. It wasn’t that she didn’t like humans, she had the same level of annoyance and vague distrust anyone would have towards a race who had oppressed people like her for decades, it was just that she was finally in a position where she could do something about it. And of course she didn’t hate humans, she was sleeping with one for June’s sake.

“There hasn’t been one ever,” Solas corrected in a low tone, finally turning away and letting her breathe. “Humans don’t let us ascend to anything more than noble servants, really.”

“But you’re a respected scholar,” Ariana blurted.

Solas cut a look at her, smirk twisting his mouth. “Yes, and how many academics who read my papers know that? If even half of them know I was an elf I would never get another research grant again.”

Ariana made a face, which was mirrored by Solas before both of them dissolved into laughter.

“Alright, so what’s this perspective then?” she asked.

“It’s not mine, actually, it’s her’s,” came the reply, and Solas nodded to the doorway behind her.

Ariana spun around and saw a tall human woman with dark hair and yellow eyes lounging against the wall, as if she’d been there the whole time.

“Well, well,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “What do we have here?”

Ariana frowned, unaffected by the woman’s attempt to intimidate her. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I am Morrigan,” the woman replied and prowled into the room with a self-important smirk on her face. “And you are the Inquisitor, fabled leader of this motley band of soldiers.”

“Congratulations, you know that the elf who looks like the Inquisitor is, in fact, the Inquisitor.”

Solas snorted beside her and Morrigan’s eyebrow twitched.

“Very amusing. Judging from the stories I didn’t expect you to have a sense of humour,” the woman replied casually.

“And I didn’t think you’d be this much of a bitch but I guess we’re all getting surprised today,” Ariana said with a sweet smile.

Solas pressed his lips together to stop from bursting into laughter again as the two women squared each other up, personalities clashing in the narrow space between them.

“It seems you’re more fun that I estimated, ‘tis a pleasure.” Morrigan held out her hand with a genuine smile on her sharp features.

“Likewise.” Ariana shook the offered hand. “Solas says you’ll be able to shed some light on what to expect at Halamshiral. Have you been before?”

Morrigan shrugged. “Yes, I was appointed Arcane Advisor to Celene for a number of years. Technically I’m still under her employ, but she’s used to me being preoccupied with my own matters these days.”

“Arcane… What?”

“Celene, like many Orlesians, has a shared fascination with the occult and taboo arts. The foreign and “exotic”, if you will. It’s why you will be viewed with such interest at court, which you must be prepared for,” Morrigan replied.

“Why would they be fascinated with me? I’m just from the Free Marches, it’s not exactly a far-off land.” Ariana glanced between her and Solas, who winced a little at her words.

“It’s not your country of origin they are fascinated with,” Solas began, picking his way around the words like they were eggshells.

“It’s because you’re an elf,” Morrigan broke in, unaffected. “Elves in Orlais are viewed with a degree of… perverse curiosity.”

The words slammed into Ariana in a wave of disgust and embarrassment. The tips of her ears burned red and she braced her hands on the edge of Solas’ desk, trying to force her anger down.

“They’ll be fetishizing me because I’m a fucking elf!?” she growled through gritted teeth. She took it all back, she hated humans. No, she hated Orlesians, Fereldens may oppress elves but at least they didn’t fetishise them. What kind of disgusting culture was it that would willingly sexualise a person based on the shape of their ears? And after the way they were pushed down like they were animals, like they were _nothing_ , it just made it all the more sickening.

She would have to try very, very hard not to murder every politician she saw at court who were complacent in this. Josephine would never forgive her for it.

 “Da’assan…” Solas’ hand brushed her shoulder and she stiffened. “This is one of those things you can stop, by being the Inquisitor at court and not a common elf.” His words were soft, gentle, soothing her fevered mind. “You can stop all of this, you just need to take a step back from who you are and become who you need to be for all of us.”

Ariana took a steady breath in, and out, her anger ebbing away as quickly as it had come. “You’re right. Ok, I’m sorry.” She straightened and motioned for Morrigan to continue. “Alright, so aside from the perversion, what else can I expect?”

Morrigan’s eyes flicked up and down her for a moment before she carried on talking. “There will probably be another elf there, Briala, Celene’s spymaster. You can’t trust her, no matter what she says. Her politics are marginally more preferable than Celene’s but she’s still a master at playing the Game, she’ll be trying to use you as much as any human there.”

“Alright, Briala, don’t trust. Got it, do I have any allies there?”

“Very few. But allies don’t have to mean friends,” Morrigan pointed out with a sharp-toothed smile. “My next suggestion may be… alarming at first, but try and see the intelligence behind it.”

Ariana raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I believe we should let Celene die at the ball.”

“Let her… Wait, what!?” Ariana burst out. “I thought you were her advisor! Why would you think we should kill her!?”

Morrigan raised a hand. “I’m not suggesting _we_ kill her. I’m saying that if Corypheus’ agent does strike, as we believe ‘tis so, we should not prevent it.”

“Wh…” Ariana’s words trailed off in an angry, confused huff. She rubbed the sore spot between her eyes. “Why, why would we do that!?”

“With Celene out of the way, Corypheus will no longer be able to control her or use the empty throne to cause chaos across the city in Orlais itself, and we can replace her with someone of our choosing,” Morrigan counselled patiently. “There are a number of people we could help ascend to the throne, Gaspard for example is a seasoned soldier and has command over the entire military force of Orlais. He’d be willing to aid us with an army when needed, and he’s less likely to betray us or be guilty of double-dealing like so many other Orlesian politicians. Including Celene.”

“Plus if we combined his rule with Briala as a second-in-command, we’d get the organised elven alliances as well,” Solas added in a grim tone.

“It would be chaos,” Ariana retorted, feeling her resolve weaken as their arguments sank in.

“True, but a chaos we could control,” Morrigan corrected. “Chaos does not go hand in hand with destruction, it’s just as easy to form a solid foundation from which to build upon from mutual upheaval and change.”

Ariana stared at both of her advisors with eyes like unbelieving saucers. They had good points, she knew that, but the idea of knowingly standing aside and letting Corypheus carry out his plans felt a lot like letting him win. It was like chess, she supposed. Sacrifice one piece to move more into a stronger position. It was all just a game to them, people weren’t living, breathing things they were just pieces on a board to be moved and manipulated for the best possible outcome. And she wasn’t sure if that was such a bad thing anymore. They’d lost so much, at Haven, at Weishaupt, all because they tried to look after each other as a family. Maybe it was time to start looking at things more cynically, even if it did mean she lost a part of herself in the process. If it meant she could save more people, she supposed she could live with that.

It felt like as more time passed, a little more of her was worn away like a cliff being worn away by unrelenting tides.

“I’ll think about it,” she heard herself saying, and Morrigan and Solas nodded, although if it was in approval or understanding, she couldn’t tell. “Excuse me.” Before they could say another word, Ariana turned and practically ran from the room. She couldn’t tell where she was going, she just needed to leave and go back to something soft, familiar, comforting. Something that reminded her that she was still a person and not a heartless leader.

So she went back to her room and crawled back into bed next to a still sleeping Cullen, worming her way into his arms and pressing her face against his chest. She drew in a long breath, the quietness and darkness of the room smothering her like a blanket, combining comfortingly with the steady sounds of Cullen breathing and the familiar smell of him surrounding her.

She wished she could freeze the world and stay in his unconscious embrace, forget about Old Gods and assassinations and the unnatural green scar on her hand that she still didn’t understand. She still had a few days until Halamshiral, and she planned to spend every moment that she could with Cullen, learning everything about him because she was far more interested in that than politics and war. At least that was what she told herself, because dealing with the thought that she might not get the chance after Halamshiral was too awful for her to bear. Something was coming, and she wasn’t sure she’d be ready when it arrived.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Whenever I have to come up with a snappy retort that's kinda mean, I just think of what I'd say in that situation. 
> 
> Translation of Leliana's french: "Oh my charming little fish", "my duck" and "Honestly, you not speaking Orlesian means I can insult you any time I want and you have no idea" (or thereabouts). Dorian, unfortunately, can understand her just fine.
> 
> Also, I love Morrigan a lot. Shoutout to drunk Dorian, what a delightfully messy bitch he is.
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed it!


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